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SERGEL'S 

Humorous Dialogues 




d'CH ICAGO'G ^ d 

THE-DRAMAT1C-PUBLI5HING -COMPANY. 



PRACTICAL INSTRUCTIONS 

FOR 

PRIVATE THEATRICALS 

By W. D. EMERSON. 

Author of "A;Country Romance," « 'The Unknown Rival." 4i Hlx*. 
ble Pie ? " etc. 

Price, 25 cents. 

Here is a practical hand-book, describing in detail all the ao 
Cessories, properties, scenes and apparatus necessary for an ama- 
teur production. In addition to the descriptions in words, every ~ 
thing is clearly shown in the numerous pictures, more than one=» 
hundred being inserted in the book. No such useful book has 
ever been offered to the amateur players of any country. 

CONTENTS. 

Chapter I. Introductory Remarks. 

Chapter II. Stage, How to Make, etc. j.n drawing-rooms 
or parlors, with sliding or hinged doors. In a single large room. 
The Curtain; how to attach it, and raise it, etc. 

Chapter III. Arrangement of Scenery. How to hangite 
Drapery,' tormentors, wings, borders, drops. 

Chapter IV. Box Scenes. Center door pieces, plain wings, 
door wings, return pieces, etc. 

Chapter V. How to Light the Stage. Oil, gas and electric 
lights. Footlights, Sidelights, Reflectors. How to darken the 
Dtage, etc. 

Chapter VI. Stage Effects. Wind, Rain, Thunder, Break- 
ing Glass, Falling Buildings, Snow, Water, Waves, Cascades, 
Passing Trains, Lightning, Chimes, Sound of Horses' Hoofs, Shots. 

Chapter VII. Scene Painting. 

Chapter VIII. A Word to the Property Man. 

Chapter IX. To the Stage Manager. 

Chax>ter X. The Business Manager. 



Address Orders to 

THE DRAMATIC PUBLISHING COMPANY, 

CHICAGO. 



SERGEL'S 

Humorous Dialogues 



SELECTIONS FOR AMATEUR AND 

PARLOR THEATRICALS AND 

SCHOOL EXHIBITIONS 



Copyright, Ip04, by The Dramatic Publishing Company. 



CHICAGO 
THE DRAMATIC PUBLISHING COMPANY. 



'■» i 



: :Y of OOMQRcSS 
Two Copies Received 

DEC 30 1304 

Cc-pyngm tntry 



uc-pyrigni tmry A/V 

CUSS cX XXc, Noijl V\ a 

copy e. \ v 



COPY B. 



/z~3fsy} 



CONTENTS 



OF 



SERGEL'S HUMOROUS DIALOGUES 



PAGE. 

Six Months Ago Felix Dale. 5 

(Two Male and one Female Character.) 
The Broken -Hearted Club J. Sterling Coyne, lb~ 

(Four Male and eight Female Characters.) 
One too Many for Him Thos. J. Williams. 33 

(Two Male and three Female Characters.) 
A Wordy Combat Charles Dance. 51 

(One Male and one Female Character.) 
Vice Against Virtue J. B. Buckstone. 6L 

(Three Male Characters. ) 
Royal Talk to a King Charles Dance. 62 

(Two Male and one Female Characters.) 
Tact and Fact John Courtney. TO 

(One Male and one Female Character.) 
Living on False Pretences J. M. Morton. 72 

(Two Male and one Female Character.) 
Two in the Morning Charles Matthews. 80 

(Two Male Characters.) 
A Man's Double Hubert Lille. 86 

(One Male and two Female Characters.) 
A Tiger and His own Maid Charles Dance. 90 

(One Male and one Female Character.) 



4 CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

An Inventive Genius J. R. Planclie. 93 

(Two Male Characters.) 
My Uncle's Friends William Brougli. 97 

(Two Male Characters.) 
Incurable Blues Tom Taylor. 103 

(Two Male Characters.) 
A Miser Reclaimed J. R. Planclie. 106 

(Two Male and one Female Character.) 
A Fraction of a Woman Thomas Haynes Bailey. 112 

(Two Male and two Female Characters.) 
Too Attentive by Half J. M. Morton. 117 

(Two Male and one Female Character.) 
Cold Poison F. C. Burnand. 125 

(Three Male and one Female Character.) 
Killing Time 132 

(Two Male and one Female Character.) 
A Corsican Vendetta J. M. Morton. 136 

(Two Male Characters.) 
False Pride and Human Nature .J. M. Morton. 140 

(Two Male Characters.) 



SIX MONTHS AGO. 



SCENE. — Morning Room in a little Country House* prettily furnished ; entrance 
door on garden, c. ; doors, R. and L. ; piano, with a vase on it, r. ; work 
table, $c; sofa, l. 

At the rising of the Curtain Edwin Bliss is lying on the sofa, l., with a news- 
paper, adeep — Angelina is at Iter tcork table, r. c, looking at him over 
Iter work. 

Angelina. Asleep again ; and at twelve o'clock in the day. Oh, 
is too much ! (strikes t/te table.) 

Edwin (waking wdh a start). I beg your pardon ! 

Angel. The same to you, my dear ; sorry I disturbed you. 

Edwin. As if Id been asleep. I was only thinking. 

Angel. Of course; and I oughtn't to have broken the thread of your 
valuable reflections. Edwin, you're bored! 

Edwin. My treasure, what an idea ! Why, our life here is one of de- 
lirious excitement. I he daily programme is quite sensational. First we 
get up — then conies our rural breakfast — eggs, and cream of the purest 
description — arcadian but bilious ; then a walk to admire the beauties of 
nature ; lunch and the beauties of nature till dinner time ; after dinner 
ditto lepeated, with varieties of moonlight effect — when there is a moon. 
Oh, it's beautiful ! 

i:l. In plain English, you don't care for me any more. 

Edwin. My dear child ! as if the deepest love wasn't compatible with 
an occasional — yawn, (yawns — Angelina begins to cry.) Oh lord ! I'm 
off! (//side) Running water is one of the beauties of nature which I least 
appreciate, (rii 

Angel, {stopping him). Edwin, we had better come to an understanding 
at once. 

Edwin. What about 1 (goc$ back to sofa.) 

Angel. Oh, 1 mean it this time. We've been married six months to- 
day. 

Edwin. Not longer 1 

Angel. Haven't we lived all the time in this little place, without a soul 
knowing where we were 1 

Edwin. Oh yes. 

Angel. Not a living being has disturbed our tete-l^teU 

Edwin. Oh no. 

Angel. Haven't 1 loved you all the time] 

Edwin. Oh yes, 



6 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 

Angel. And yet you're bored. 

Edwin. Oh no, not when it don't rain. 

Angel. For shame, sir ! But I'll bear it no longer. We both fancied 
we were in love : we were both mistaken ; yes, sir, both. We'll go back 
to London, and there, perhaps, you 11 be ha — happier, (bursts into tears, 
and walks away.) 

Edwin (who has risen, delighted at the idea, puts on a melancholy face). My 
darling, as if I should dream of leaving this Elysium. Ain't we like 
Adam and Eve. before they were turned out of Eden 1 (aside). By the 
way, "how glad Adam must have been when they were ! 

Angel, (smiling through her tears). Then you don't wan't to go 1 

Edwin. Not I : my only prayer is to live and die here. 

Angel. I only live for your love, Edwin. 

Edwin. That's all. 

Angel. It would be so dreadful to lose it. 

Edwin. Horrid. Come and sit here, little woman, and tell us what's 
to be done to-day 1 (sits o% arm chair, l. c, and seats her on a little stool by 
his side.) 

Angel. Yes, let's think of something. 

Edwin. By all means : something new. 

Angel. I've thought ! look how fine it is, love. Suppose we went into 
the woods. 

Edwin. What ! Beauties of nature again 1 

Angel. Edwin, six months ago you were only too happy to spend all 
the day with me in the woods ; is it all over then 1 

Edwin. All over ! bless her little heart. Remember, there was an awful 
dew last night, and the ground's as wet as a sponge, 

Aingel. An awful dew! six months ago you called it "the moisture 
of heaven." 

Edwin. Did I ? what an ass I must have been! I say, Lina, is it near 
lunch time ] 

Angel. Six months ago you never wanted lunch. 

Edwin. Come, say, hang it. (rising.) 

Angel, (pushing him down). Sit down, naushty boy, I will put you in 
a good humor. I m going to sit at your feet, and read to you, just as 
you used to read to me. (taking a book.) 

Edwin {aside). Oh, ah ! verses, I know. 

Angel, (opening her book). Tennyson. 

Edwin. Early Poems — page 16—" The Queen of the May " — plea 8 "" 
not. 

Angel. Would you rather have — 

Edwin. " Locksley Hall,' —Ditto— page 45. No, thanks. 

Angel, (keeping her temper with an effort). Isn't his grand Turkship hard 
to please to-day 1 But I think I know how to manage him. (goes to pi- 
ano, R.) 

Edwin (aside). Six to four on Faust! (Angelina begins the march) I 
knew it ; Turn, turn-turn tiddy-ti-um ti-tum ! I say, don't. I'm sick to 
death of it. 

Angel. Will you have a song then 7 (begins " The Forsaken" when she 
readies the words " He will return ; I know he will," Edwin stops her.) 

Edwin. I know he will ! I wish he wouldn't. Anything but that ven^ 
erable lyric. 

Angel, {angrily). I give it up then! (Jumps up, and slams the piano, near- 
ly knocking off the vase — Edwin runs up.) 

Edwin. Take care ; take care! A little less violence, please, I'm par- 
ticular about that vase. 

Angel. I forgot, You wanted to box the housemaid's ears when 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 7 

she let it fall the other day and all but broke it. Perhaps you'd like to 
box raine. 

Edwin. My dear ! i: The man who lays his hand upon a woman," et 
cetera ; though if anything would tempt me to disregard that novel and 
highly moral precept, it would be if this vase were smashed. 

Angel. A souvenir of some old love, no doubt. Was she pretty ? "What 
was her name 1 

Ed wis. Lina, for shame ! 

Angel. You never cared for me. Six months have been enough to 
show you what a mistake you have ma 

Edwin. By Jove, you'll make me believe you at last, (a ring at the 
door be I) Hallo! who can that be \ (aside) Can it be Jack ? What a bless- 
ed relief it it is. 

"Enter Servant, c, gives him a card. 

It is ! " Mr. John Deedes, Lincoln's Inn." My old friend, and the best 
fellow in the world. Lina. Show him in at once — and (to Angelina, aside) 
do look jolly, there's a darling. 

Angel, (to Servant;. Wait a moment ! (to Edwin) then you mean this 
gentleman to come in ] 

Edwin. Of course I do ! Why i 

Angel. Nobody was to have our address, I thought. How did he find 
us out? 

Edwin (hesitating). Oh, some accident, I suppose. My dear, how cau 
we possibly refuse to see him 7 

A xoel. Then you persist I John, show the stranger in ! 

Edwin. Lina you're joking ! 

Angel, (deliberately). Show — the — stranger — in ! (Servant goes out. c.) 

Edwin. My best friend, and my lawyer too. come from town on pur- 
pose to see me, on important business very likely. Even married men 
have business sometimes, you know. Be reasonable. 

Angel, (sitting stiffly at her work) You are master here ! 

Edwin. As soon as you know him. you'll like him as much as I do. 
(comet frits to take her hand) My darling, if course this man's 

a horrid bore for coming and disturbing us ; but how cau I help it ' 
bl. (repulsing him). I)o I reproach you"? 

Edwin. Naughty child ! do be civil to him for my sake. 

Angel. You don't know me, Edwin. A woman can mask her deepest 
sorrows with a smile. 

En win. Good gracious 

BL. Here is your friend. 

«k. c. — Edwin runs to meet him. 

Edwin. Dear old boy, here's a surprise. You haven't forgotten me in 
my exile, then 1 

Angel. (a±ia\ ). His oxile ! 

Jack (r.). First 1 must apologise for disturbing you in this charming 
retreat of yours, and then — but won't you introduce me 1 

Edwin. Of course. Lina, let me introduce my old friend Jack Deedes 
— best of fellows and most honest of attorneys. 

Jack — Angelina makes a deep court seg and sits down again — 

Edwin looks disgus 

Edwin. You mean to stay with us a good long time, I hope. 



8 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 

Angel, {aside). Asks him to stay ! 

Jack. Only long enough for you to do me a service, which is this — ~* 

Edwin. All in good time. I shall lay violent hands on your luggage. 

Jack. Why your wife would never forgive me 

Edwin. If you didn't stay ; of course she wouldn't, {aside to Angelina) 
Say so, do. 

Angel, {coldly). I should be delighted. 

Edwin. That's right. How about lunch, Linal of course you haven't 
had yours, Jack. We'll have a glass of wine together for Auld Lang Syne. 
(to Angelina) Do you mind having a talk with the cook, dear 1 Nothing 
like personal supervision, (to Jack who has been trying to stop him) No 
apologies! stop you must, and lunch you shall ! (aside to Angelina, as she 
passes with an air of ma) tyrdom) Try to be civil, at all events ! 

[Angelina makes a solemn curtsey and exit, l. 

Jack. Bravo, old boy ! what a pretty wife you've got 

Edwin. Very. But now 

Jack. Money, too, isn't there 1 

Edwin. Lots ! By-the-bye 

Jack. And expectations besides? 

Edwin. Great. 

Jack. Accomplished ? 

Edwin. Wonderful ! 

Jack. Sweet-tempered 

Edwin. Delicious ! 

Jack. Happy man ! 

Edwin. Jolly, (they sit, r. c.) Now that's settled ; and if you've quite 
done talking about my wife you may give me some news of my old 
friends. I feel like Alexander Selkirk or Robinson Crusoe, or any other 
cast-off mariner. What's become of Charlie Nixon 1 

Jack. Married, 

Edwin. The devil ! To whom ? 

Jack. You know her — Mary Forrester — that dark girl whose hair 
turned red last season. 

Edwin. You don't mean it 1 And Sinclair 1 

Jack. Going to be married. 

Edwin. What, he too 1 The complaint's catching, apparently ; though 

how anybody can be such a wise men, both of them. Now tell me 

about the women. 

Jack. What a comprehensive inquiry, (aside) There's something 
wrong here. Bliss, you surprise me — you, a newly-married man 

Edwin! Newly ! six months ago ! 

Jack. And to think that I was afraid of coming here. If it hadn't 
been in your power to do me a great service, I don't think that even that 
letter of yours would have brought me. 

Edwin. Hush, not a word of that letter, an' thou lovest me. What- 
ever brought you, never was visitor more welcome. 

Jack. According to you, then, threes company and two's none. Ed- 
win, you don't love your wife ! 

Edwin. My good fellow, I've done nothing else for six months; and 
how can I help it 1 She talks French, plays and sings ; knows where 
Jamaica is, more or less ; is pretty, sweet-tempered, affectionate, and an 
orphan. She's an angel, poor child ! Talking of angels, how's Anas- 
tasia 1 

Jack. Anastasial 

Edwin. Yes, that adorable widow, who was the load-star of my affec- 
tions for months ; and who, if stern fate hadn't interfered in the shape of 
another woman 1 liked better, might now have been Mrs, Bliss j but 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 9 

that's over now, Jack. I must come to town with you — only for a week ; 
but a week I must have. You're my lawyer — you have got some busi- 
ness that requires my personal attention ; and you carry me off for a day 
or two. 

Jack. Thank you. This is doing unpleasant business " by attorney " 
with a vengeance. Why drag me into the affair '] Can't you say you're 
going, simply ! 

Edwin. Yes. I could ; but I'd rather not. My plan's the best. 

Jack. Bliss. I'm fairly puzzled. Who on earth could have expected 
this] 

Edwin. I must have town air or die. My wife's perfect, as I told you, 
and I love her as much as ever. 17evertheless, if ever you think of mar- 
rying {looking at him significantly.} 

Jack. I'm to take Mr. Punch's advice — and " don't," I suppose. I 
tell you what it is, my friend — you've killed your goose — I beg Mrs. 
Bliss's pardon — your duck for the golden eggs — made the running too 
heavy at first. 

Edwin. Think so ?- Anyhow, I count on you. 

Jack. I shall astonish your wife considerably. 

Edwin. Hush, here she is ! To be continued in our next, {raising his 
voice) Oh, you don't know half our advantages, Such grass—ever so 
high ! Such cows — ever so fat ! 

Enter Angelina, door, l. 

Angel. Luncheon's on the table! 

Edwin. What, in the other room ! Why not here, as we always have 
it? 

Angel. When we're alone. Oh, Edwin ! 

Edwin. Oh, that makes no odds. It's much jollier here. What do 
you say, Jack 1 

Jack. Just as you please. 

Angel, {aside). What profanation i {rings for the Servant \ 

Enter Servant, l. 

Edwin. Bring the lunch in here, John, table and all, just as it is. (Ser- 
vant goes out and brings in the lunch) I'll give you such a glass of sherry, 
Jack ; but you musn't get screwed, you know. 

Jack. Your husband is amusing himself at my expense. Mrs. Bliss. 
to Edwin) She is a pretty woman ! 

Edwin. Isn't she! {aloud) Now for the lunch, {the;/ sit down) Here you 
are, Jack ; here's a chair for you, worked by my wife. 

Angel, {aside). His own chair! 

Edwin {JtUini the glasses). Your jolly good health, old boy! This is 
like the good old times, (look from Angelin a.) That is — I mean — when I 
say — good old Have some more wine. {Jit s Jack's glass.) 

Jack. Gently, gentiy ! 

Edwin. Forgive my rustic habits. Six months in the wilds of the 
country; six blessed — {look front Angelina) truly blessed months, 
which have seemed like so many years — days 1 mean — Have some more 
wine! {pours it over the tablecloth.) 

Ja<-k. This pudding is delicious. Mrs. Bliss. 

Edwin. Made by her own hands. She's a capital cook. Talking of 
cooks, do you remember that famous supper of oui'S at — {checking him- 
self.) 

Asgej., At — ] 



10 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 

Edwin. At his aunt's, {aside) That's a shave. 

Angel. Oh, indeed, (to Jack) It was at- 

Jack {hesitating). Yes, it was at 

Edwin. Poor woman, she's dead. It's a pity too, for she was one of the 
most agreeable women. Wasn't she, Jack % 

Jack. Certainly she was. 

Angel (aside). It was some old love of his ; how disgraceful ! And how 
gravely that lawyer backs him up. But I suppose that is part of his edu- 
cation. 

Edwin. How's Thompson, by the way ^What's he doing with himself? 

Jack. He's married. 

Edwin. What, everybody ! (change of tone) Quite right. Everybody 
ought to do it. Everything jolly must come to an end, you know. I 
mean that everything must come to a jolly end. Have some more wine. 

Jack. I quite agree wish you there j and I want your help to bring 
about another marriage. 

Edwin. Whose next % 

Jack. My own. (change of face on the part of both Edwin and Angelina) 
Yes, my dear Mrs. Bliss, you see before you a bachelor anxious to 
recant his errors. And your husband can help me it he pleases. 

Angel. Of course he pleases, (warmly) We'll do all we can for you, 
Mr. Deedes, if you'll only tell us how. 

Jack. Well, then, the lady is a near neighbor of yours in these parts — 
Mr. Carringtons daughter. 

Angel. What, Edith? as nice a girl as she's pretty. 
■ Jack. That's the one. 
. Edwin. That little thing with the freckles ? 

Jack. I beg your pardon, dimples. Well, I happened to hear that the 
Carringtons were old friends of yours ; and as about the same time I 
learnt, (Edwin kicks him) by accident, that you were rusticating within 
a two hours' ride of them, I determined to find you out, and ask Bliss for 
a letter of introduction to the paternal Carrington ; and armed with that, 
1 have no reason to despair of success. 

Angel. You shall have it, and all our best wishes too. Go and write it 
at once, Edwin. 

Edwin. Stop a bit. (shaking his head) I say, old boy — — 

Angel. You don't seem too anxious to do your best friend a good 
turn. 

Edwin. You don't understand me, love. If there were two Angelinas 
in the world — Now, but there's only one, and I've got her. Jack, are 
you serious % 

Jack. Very, I'm in love. 

Edwin. Bah ! What a reason, at your time of life ! 

Angel. You don't believe in love-matches then 1 

Edwin. How you do take a fellow up, Lina. It was all very well for 
such a placid, home-loving creature as I to commit matrimony. The 
domestic hearth is my natural sphere. But for such a dog as Jack ■ 

Jack. Come, I say 

Angel, (rising). Never mind him, Mr. Deedes. I don't believe him. 
Will you excuse me for a few minutes % My head aches to-day. (going 
towards the door, u.) 

Edwin (aside to her). My dear love 

Angel, (aside to him.) Be quiet, sir, and for shame! (asid:) This can't 
and shan't go on any longer. [Exit, r. 

Edwin. There ! What do you say to that 1 

Jack. That I'm very sorry to see it. 
' Edwin. Then don't neglect the warning. You want to marry— for 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICAL-. 11 

love — I congratulate you. You haven't got such a thing as a weed 
about you,, have you I Thanks. (.V kting 'on-: and lying on sofa, l.) Do you 
remember Mocrg's lines :-=• 

Shining on, shining- on, "by no shadow made tender, 
Till love falls asleep in its sameness 01 splendor." 

And then the shadows come, thick enough. Ah, isn't this cigar good ? 
Look here : I haven't smoked for six months — that's love after mar- 
riage! 

Jack. Then what'll your wife say to the smell of the smoke 1 

Edwin. Chance that — I'll say it's you. 

Jack. Thank you. But you may say what you like ; you know your- 
self how, some day or another, every man grows tired of single blessed- 
ness. 

Edwix. Analyze that feeling, and what does it come to 1 A thirst for 
novelty, and a»yearning for shirt-butt <.- 

Jack. Prosaic idea! Besides 1 always wear studs! 

Edwix. Matter-of-fact observation ! Jack. I'm wife J to death. Every- 
thing here is like my happiness — home-made. Look at that foot-stool — 
she worked it ; that pudding — she made it ; my slippers — my smoking 
cap — my braces ! There isn't no mortal thing she doesn't r^ake. 

Jack* What, badly? 

Edwix. No, well ; didn't 1 tell you she's an angel 1 But that's the 
st of it. Everything — cakes and caresse* — poetry and pastry, is 
sweetness, softness, and monotony. I know what the end of it will be. 
I shall simply die of excess of happiness or fat ! 

Jack. But you're not a bit fatter than becomes a man at your time of 
life— the father — or, at all events, the husband — of a family ! 

Edwix. 1 beg your pardon. If I don't take to Banting in the usual 
form, I shall soon want his services in his capacity of undertaker. 
There's only one chance for both of us, and that is to be off to town at 
once. 

Jack. What, to take your fat down 1 

To go to town's the only art I know 

To make men slender, or to keep them so 

Do talk reason for a moment. 

Edwix. Reason be hanged ! London, liberty, and Anastasia. {rises) By 
: how 1 did worship that woman ! 

Jack. Hush ! not so loud. 

Edwix. Chance that. I'll say it's you. Bless her, she gave me that 
. which the maid was so nearly smashing. If she had ! Now are 
you coming ? {goes up, l.j 

Jack. No ! 1 daresay you think me a great fool for wanting to marry 
a pretty and charming girl ; but 1 stick to my point; so go and writes 
that letter to old Carrington as soon as you can. 

Edwix. Fou'vo made up your mind then? 

Jack. I have indeed. 

Edwix. Positive'? 

Jack. Positive. 

Edwix. Then I'll write the fatal letter, (f/ohif/ to the door, l., turm) Re- 
member, I shall praise you up to the ski 

Jack. The higher the better. 

Edwix. You'll be adored to a certainty! 

Jack. The more the merrier. 

Edwix, Accepted and married out of hand,' 



12 AMATEUR AND PAELOft THEATRICALS. 

Jack. I hope so. 

Edwin. And you'll be a happy man before you know where you are. 
I wish you joy of it. [Exit, l. 

Jack. That's settled, then ; and it's my own fault, I fancy, if things 
don't turn out as I wish. As for Bliss, poor devil, things are looking 
bad for him. " Excess of happiness, or fat ! : ' (sits, l. c.) Upon my word, 
it's rather serious when you come to look at it in that light. It is enough 
to make a man uneasy 

Enter Angelina, hastily, r., with a sheet of the " Times " in her hand. 

Angel. Mr. Deedes. 

Jack. I beg your pardon. 

Angel. Don't get up, pray, (taking chair by him) You're a lawyer ; and 
I want your advice. 

Jack. My advice, Mrs. Bliss 1 You're not going to law about any- 
thing, surely ! As an attorney I'm bound to encourage you — as a friend 
permit me to recommend my own example. Nothing on earth would in- 
duce me to go to law ; 1 know too much about it. 

Angel. But it is as an attorney that I want your help, (hesitating) 
You'll excuse my asking you if I ought to pay in advance ; I've got 
half a sovereign, if you can give me three-and-fourpence change. 

Jack (laughing). No, no ; we're not so bad as the doctors, after all. 
Our profession give credit, though they don't get much. What do you 
want to consult me about 1 

Angel. I will tell you. Look at this, (pointing to a place in the paper.) 

Jack. Court of Probate and Divorce. Before the Judge Ordinary ! 
Good heavens, Mrs. Bliss, you don't want to have anything to do with 
him ! 

Angel. That's precisely what I do want ; though he should be a 
Judge Extraordinary to appreciate my feelings. I was behind the door 
just now, and heard all that passed between you and my husband. 

Jack (aside). The devil ! 

Angel. You don't wonder at my resolution now. I mean to have a 
divorce, and I will. You're a, lawyer, and know all about these things ; 
I'm a woman, and know a good deal, thanks to the Ordinary and the 
" Times" reporter. Though we may not vote for Members of Parliament 
— I suppose because women always change their minds, and Members 
never do — still we're not so much in the dark as you used to keep us. 
Do you think I don't know that a wife has a right to pin-money while 
she lives with her husband, and ali-mony if she leaves him 1 Do you 
think I don't know 

Jack. My dear Mrs. Bliss, your information is wonderful ; you seem 
to have " Every Woman her own Lawyer " at your fingers' ends. I 
really don't see, under the circumstances, of what use I can be. 

Angel. You can conduct my case for me, and call yourself as the 
chief witness. You've seen enough since you came this morning to con- 
vince all the Ordinaries in Christendom of the existence of impossibility 
of good temper 

Jack. Meaning incompatibility of temper ? 

Angel. It's the same thing. And cruelty — horrid cruelty — you have 
seen that ! 

Jack. Oh, dreadful! — from a moral point of view — or perhaps, I 
should say an immoral ! But the law requires tangible proofs. 

Angel. Tangible, indeed ! isn't Anastasia tangible ? You refuse to 
help me, in short ; then I shall consult some other lawyer. 

Jack (aside). And so make a scandal of this foolish business. Not" if 



AMATEUR AXD PARLOR THEATRICALS. 13 

I can help it. (aloucf) "Well, Mrs. Bliss, if it must be so it must ; and we 
must get together as much evidence as we can. Let me see — your hus- 
band has no other wife living ] 

Angel. Sir! 

Jack. Or you another husband 1 

Angel. Mr. Deedes ! As if such things happened, except in Miss 
Braddons novels, or among the Mormons ! 

Jack. Oh, it's done sometimes, I assure you; and, professionally 
freaking, it is not undesirable. In cases like the present, it simplifies 
mitters amazingly. Has your husband ever attempted your life 1 — with 
steel or poison ? 

Angel. X-no. He advised me to take steel for some weeks when I 
wasn't strong, but- 

Jack. A hidden meaning ! something might be made of that. Has he 
over struck you ] 

Angel. No, n-o, not yet. (looking towards the v\sc) Xo. (^asidc) I wonder" 
if I could make him ! (aloud) Thank you, Mr. Deedes. I see my way 
clear now. You have done me a great service ; and in a few minutes I 
shall ask you to do me another. [Exit, r. 

Jack. This is a pleasant position. See your way, do you 1 That's 
more than I do. If six months bring a married couple to this, and a 
couple who were madly in love at starting, I begin to think I'd better go 
back to town ! 

Enter Edwin, l., with a letter. 

Edwin. Here's your letter, my poor dear friend. 

Jack. Oh ! thank you. Too late for to-day's post, isn't it 1 

Edwin. Xot a bit of it. 

Jack. Ah ! then keep it till it is. 

Edwin (de.ighted). What, changed your mind 1 " Bless thee, my John, 
thou art translated !" We'll go to London by the morning mail. 

Jack. One moment. I've something to say to you. 

Edwin. Say it in the train. Once more, London, liberty, and Anas- 
tasia ! 

Jack. Oh, ah ! Anastasia. "When you mentioned her this morning I 
quite forgot a little piece of news that 1 had to give you. 

Edwin. Poor dear woman ! how my marriage must have wounded 
her. 

Jack. Deeply, no doubt. She tried homoeopathy to cure it. She's 
marrie 1, too. 

Edwin. What? when? to whom 1 

Jack. A week after your wedding your Ariadne was united to the em- 
inent tenor, Busterini. 

11 1) win. Married a tenor! 

Jack. It was a nine days' wonder, I assure you. 

Edwin. Married a tenor! I shall take a walk in the garden. [Exit, c. 

Jack {laughing). So much for his widow ! The lesson will do him 
good and bring him to his senses again. As for me, I wish I could make 
up my mind about that letter. 

Enter Angelina, r., quiiklu. 

Angel. My husband has just left you J 

Jack. This instant. He's only gone for a turn in the garden. And 
look, he's coming back aL r :iin — for his hat, probably. 

AKGEL. Now for the service I want you to do me, then; for you will 
help me, won't yuu — not as a lawyer, but as a friend ! 



14 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 

Jack. Who could resist such an appeal as that? 

Angel. A thousand thanks ! I want you to Avr.it there, {points to open 
window) while my husband and I are here together. You'll hear a noise 
I dare say 

Jack. Ah, I dare say I shall. 

Angel. But whatever happens, don't come in or interrupt us till you 
hear this chair fall ; then rush in immediately, and — you shall see what 
you shall see. 

Jack. So I should imagine ; but what will it be 1 I don't understand. 

Angel. But you soon will. He's coming — quick ! 

[Exit Jack, by window, l. 

Angel, (placing the vase near the edge of the piano). If anything would 
induce him to box a woman's ears, he said — and I think with a little 
management I might make him. I hope it doesn't hurt much, though. 

Enter Edwin, c, gloomily, talking to himself. 

Edwin. " I never loved a dear gazelle." Of course I didn't — I never 
saw one. Married to a tenor ! If it had only been a baritone. 

Having known me to decline 
On a range of lower feelings, 
And a finer voice than mine. 

It must have been out of pique she did it. She was a wiciow, and ought 
in common fairness to have waited for the chance of my being a widower. 
Shallow, changing woman ! 

Angel, (aside.) Angry about something • so much the better, (aloud) 
Ahem ! 

Edwin. Oh, you're there. Where's Jack % 

Angel. I don't know, sir, and I don't care. 

Edwin (absently). Nor do I. (aide) Hang it, I remember now ! That 
Italian beggar was always giving her music lessons. 

Angel, (aside.) So far so good. Now for the next step, (takes up 
" Tennyson" and reads aloud, ivithout stops or emphasis) Early Poems — 
Locksley Hall — page 45. 

O, my cousin, shallow hearted ! 

O, my cousin, mine no more ; 
O, the dreary, dreary moorland, 

O, the barren, barren shore ! 

(Edwin pays no attention — she reads the lines again, louder) Edwin (half 
aside,)j 

I to wed with Coromantcs, 

I who managed, very near, 
To secure the heart and fortune 
Of the widow Shiilibeer. 

No, that's not Tennyson — it's Bon Gaultier — but the sentiment's the same. 
(to Angelina) Charming poet, Tennyson ! how well be knew the human 
heart. 

Angel, (aside). Good gracious, he likes it ! I must try something else. 
(goes to the piano and sings " The Forsaken " out of time and tune — as Edwin 
s.:ys nothing, she repeats " Here to die,!' angrily ) 

Edwin. Leave you here to die 1 of course he wouldn't ; he'd be a 
brute if he did ! Very nicely sung, love, you're improving every day. 

Angel, (aside). Oh dear, this won't do at all ! will "Faust" be more 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICAL 

effective, I wonder 1 (begins to play the march ir the same way, Edwin waves 
his hand n time to the music.) 

Rdwix {talking to himself). What an o] : time I 

heard it. it was at Her Majesty's, in a box w ing the garden 

scene, she was pensive ! her with me! here vacantly 

on the stage— on the form of By Jove i was Bus- 

termi ! 

Ahgel. (aside). At last ! {playi uder.) 

Edwin (jpaci\ r! and that fool of 

'er, who used to' play propriety at the back of the who saw 

nothing ! to be sure I didn't. e 

Angel. he's at boiling point ! Ir. can't fail ! (kn 

the vase, wli ch breaks — Edwin nd to her face with a 

scream.) 1 raring ! 

Edwin, {taking lier in lis arms). Bless you, my .rdian angel! 

how I do love you ! 

' red). Edwin ! 

Edwix. You're my good genius. Lina mine ! the only woman I ever 
loved. 

Angel, (tool U in the face). Except Anastasia ! 

Edwin {st Abo 1 

Angel. Anastasia, whom you are going to see in London ! 

Edwin. An — London ! ['m done. 

Angel. I was in i. and heard all. 

Edwin. In that room — ah ! when I was in tl 

As 1 vowed that I 

wouldn't cry, bur I it. I did — h>\ :h ! 

Edwin in, then 1 

Bravo, bravo ! 

What do you mean 1 

>r innocent little heart! Why I 
knew you were there all the time ; . up that little 

scene in order to cure you of you 

Angel. As if I could believe that ! Your journey to London 

Edwin. I 

Angel. And ;ia \ 

Edwin. Ha ha! a lelieved in Anna Maria — Anacon- 

da — what's her name? was a my '. he 

we used 

(S. ' 
A :- n ! I'm too >u ! The is a 

hard one ! hut perha ved it. ; 

Edwin. No — it is you who mu 
N » — you. 

; then, ti ; 
th 

Jack, i unhappy man. 

what's this ! Ji dosen'l look much Iik iair, I 

think. Mrs. I 

. Mr. Dei him ! 

Edwi- Jack ! and he winking at 

Well, our plan ha 
J.\ most extraor 

diiiary establishment ! 

:l. It was too bad of you. Mr. to play me such a trick. 

Edwin. 0. too bad of both of us. | fACK) Hold your tongue. 



1G AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 

Angel. But the lesson has not been thrown away ; and thank vou for 
it {giving Jack her hand.) 

Edwin {giving Jus). Thank you, Jack, thank you. 

Jack. You're very welcome, I'm sure. 

Angel. Only you really must let me compliment you on your profi- 
ciency in the art of — fibbing ! 

Edwin. Yes, Jack's good at that ; it's professional. 

Jack. Will somebody explain something 1 

Edwin. Everything is explained. It's an understood thing that you 
managed it capitally ; so, {aside to Jack) for goodness sake keep quiet. 

Jack {aside). Well, I shall understand in time, I suppose. 

Angel. And now, Edwin, the sooner we leave for London the better. 
No objection ; I am wiser than I was, and see what a mistake I made, 
thanks to a true friend. . 

Edwin. Yes, Jack, you're a true friend — you are. What shall we do 
to show our gratitude 1 

Jack. Well, since you seem to have settled it all between you, give me 
that letter of introduction. 

Edwin. With the greatest pleasure in life, old fellow. Go on and 
prosper. I always told you that marriage is the one road to happiness ! 

Jack {aside, laughing). Confound his impudence ! 

Edwin. Here's your letter, and good speed to your wooing ; and may 
you never repent the step which you are going to take more than Lina 
and I mean to regret that we took Six Months Ago ! 

Jack Deedes, r. Angelina and Edwin, c. 
CUETA1K 



AMATEUR AND PAKLOR THEATRICALS 



Cast nf Characters, 

u 

Royal Olytnvic Theatre, London, 
~July 26, 1867. 

Edwin Bliss Mr. John Clayton. 

Jack Deedes, his friend and lawyer Mr. H. J. Montague. 

Angelina Bliss, his wile ^ s ^ ILLY Palmeb. 



TIME IN REPRESENTATION— FORTY MINUTES. 



COSTUMES OF THE DAY. 



Morning Room in a little country Jwuse, prettily furnished. 



Entrance Door on Garden. 



Door. Door ' 



Pia7o. Work Table - 



Properties.— Piano, vase, work-table, sofa, little stool, volume of Tennyson, 
lunch-table and Lunch, wine and glasses, a copy of " Times," letter. 



Stage Directions.-R. means Right of Stage, facing the Audience ; L. Left ; C. 
Centre- R C. Eight of centre; L. C. Left of centre. D. F. Door in the Flat, or 
Scene running across the back of the Stage ; C. D. F. Centre Door in the Flat ; E. 
D F Eight Door in the Flat ; L. D. F. Left Door in the Flat ; R. D. Right Door ; 
L. D. Left Door; 1 B. First Entrance; 2 B. Second Entrance; U. E. Upper En- 
trance ; 1, 2 or 3 O. First, Second or Third Groove, 



THE BROKEE"-HEABTED CLUB. 



SCENE. — Drawing-room in Sadgrove Lodge. Mrs. Lovebird discovered 
reading a newspaper at r. of table, c. ; Araminta Willowby draw- 
ing at small table, l. ; Louisa Lipscombe embroidering l. of table, c. ; 
Serena Brook asleep in a rooking -chair, r. front, a book which she has 
been reading lies at her feet ; Ida Park at piano, r. 2 e., touching the 
keys abstractedly. 

Mrs. Lovebird {putting down the newspaper). There ! I cannot peruse 
the dreadful details. Poor woman ! Another unhappy victim to mar- 
riage. One more proof of the cruelty o' husbands to their uncomplain- 
ing wives, (the others sigh deeply.} 

Ara. Wil. They have my sympathy, poor things ! I pity them from 
the depths of my sorrowful heart. But, my dear Mrs. Lovebird, what 
fresh instance of man's barbarity have you been reading] 

Louisa Lipscombe. ) ^ u i * u •+ 

Ida Park. J 0h ' pray let us hear lfc * 

Mrs. Love. Well, to gratifv you (takes up the paper} here it is. (reads) 
"A gentleman of this neighborhood, who has been recently married, 
discovered, when dressing last Thursday morning, that his shirt had 
lost a button. Enraged at this neglect of domestic duty, he seized 
the razor with which he had been shaving, rushed on his trembling wife, 

who had fallen on her knees before him, and with one cut severed " 

(the ladies start with a thrill of horror.) 

Ara. Wil. Her throat? 

Mrs. Love, (reading). " Severed her lovely chignon from her head." 
(the Ladies clap their hands to the back of their heads and exclaim, " Mons- 
ter ! " ' Brute!") 

Ida Park. If you want another instance of the barbarity of husbands 
I'll read you a passage from my. friend Julia Marston's letter, (reads) 
'• Could you believe, my dear Ida, that Augustus has already shown him- 
self in his true colors, and from being the humblest of my slaves, has, in 
six short weeks become a perfect domestic tyrant 1 Imagine him carry- 
ing his cruelty to the extent of refusing to take me to the opera last 
Saturday, because — oh, heavens! that I should live to wiite it! because 
he was going to his club." (the Ladies shudder) " Be warned by the fate 
of your unhappy friend, and never marry." 

Ladies. Oh, never, never! 

Mrs. Love. Men are all alike — perfidious, base, and treacherous 
creatures. I could tell you such tales of husbands who got rid of their 
unsuspecting partners by the most refined cruelty. 

Ara. Wil. Like the celebrated fiddler who destroyed four of his wives 
in succession, by tickling the soles of their feet while they slept, 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 19 

Mrs. Love. Ah, my dear girl, there are means quite as effectual foi 
killing a poor wile as tickling her sole — secret persecutions, domestic tor- 
tures, neglect, suspicion, tyranny, jealousy. 

Lou. Lips. Jealousy ! like tiiat of Bluebeard, who hung his six wives 
on six clotbes'-pegs in a back attic. 

Mrs. Love. Historic doubts have been thrown upon the authenticity 
of that thrilling legend, my love ; but whether it be true or false, it 
proves that men are capable of t eating their wives like their old coats, 
by hanging them up when they get tired of them. . 

Ara. Wil All. you have had experience of the married state, Mrs, 
Lovebird ; you have suffered as a wife. 

Mrs. Love. Su tiered, my dear ! Martyrdom is a mild word to de- 
scribe what T endured during the six years of my wedded life with poor 
Lovebird, who, as you may have heard, was collector at Daihootie, in 
India. 

Ida Parke, Did he tickle the soles of your poor feet 7 

Mrs. Love. No ; I must, in justice to the departed collector, confess 
that he was kind and aifectionate to me when sober ; but being abomin- 
ably addicted to brandy pawnee, his normal condition was intoxication, 
and his daily exercise, beating his wife. Delirium tremens, however, re- 
leased the collector and delivered me. 

Ara. Wil. How little we know of men. "When they kneel at our feet, 
pleading for the smallest fragment of our heart, they appear so gentle, 
so loving, so devoted, that we cannot help compassionating the poor 
creatures. It was thus that I learned to love Stanley Graham ; but, alas ! 
he proved inconstant, and — I — /am here. 

Lou. Lips. Ah, you have touched a tender chord in my aching bosom. 
False Chomley, false Chomley! {[applies her lumdk rchief to far eyes.) 

Ara. "Wil. Who was Chomley, dear ! 

Lou. Lips. Arthur Chomley, of the Guards. Splendid man ! Such 
eyes, such teeth, such boots! 

Ida Parke. I know the fellow. Tawny beard and whiskers. Ptides 
like a centaur. 

Lou. Lips. And dances like an angel. Heigho ! 'Twas at Lady Pen- 
nington's ball we first met, and there, while whirling me in a delicious 
waltz, he laid his heart at my feet. 

Mrs. Love. And you, silly girl, stooped to pick it up ? 

Lou. Lips. I thought it would make such a pretty toy. 

Mrs. Love. Dangerous toys, my dear, for girls to play with. But you 
say your lover proved false 1 

Lor. Lips. False as Mrs. Smiler's teeth ; for I discovered, a few days 
after, that he was engaged to be married to Miss Lombard, the rich 
stockbroker's (laughter; so when he next called. I was "not at home." 

Ida Parke. Acted like a girl of spirit. But my case was still worse. 
That jealous wretch, Tom Hazleton — I really liked him, and might have 
been persuaded to marry him, but for his objecting to my study of botany. 

Ara. Wil. Object to your studying botany 1 

Ida Parke. With Captain Brownhill. 

Ara. Wil. Oh ! (Ladies laugh.) 

Ida Parke. He came to our pic-nic last summer, at Burnham Beeches. 
I found that, like me, he was an enthusiastic lover of botany, and, in the 
ardor of our favorite pursuit, we strolled away to cohect ferns. 

Mrs. Love. Oh, ah! F» 

Ida Parke. Well, when we returned to the party, Master Tom made 
himself perfectly ridiculous. Wouldn't speak to me all that evening, and 
on the following morning sent me back my photograph, with a lock of 
jet black hair, which he had begged from me on his knees. 



20 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS 

Ara. Wil. But, my dear Ida, your hair is not black. 

Ida Parke. No, no. That was before 1 went into auburn. 

Ara. Wil. Did he not offer any explanation of his conduct 1 

Ida Parke. Only a few formal lines, saying he could never trust his 
happiness to a girl who had such a passion for fein-hunting. 

Ladies. Inhuman! Barbarous! Disgraceful! 

Lou. Lips. How shocked you must have been. Did you faint, dear, or 
go into hysterics 1 

Ida Parke. Neither. I was never more pleased in my life-^-because 
— I could hate him — -and — despise him — and — {struggling with her emo- 
tion') and — let everybody see — how little I cared for a man — 1 always 
detested, {bursts into tears and sobs) always, always, {weeps.) 

Lou. Lips. Dear Ida ! My heart bleeds for her. 

Mrs. Love. You have suffered much, poor child ; but your fate has 
not been so deplorable as that of Serena Brook, who slumbers there 
(pointing to Serena Brook, who sleeps in a rocking-chair, r.) in happy 
forgetfulness of her woes. 

Serena B. (asleep). When shall we have dinner ? 

Mrs. Love. Her soul is far away in dreams. 

Ida Parke. How was her heart crushed, Mrs. Lovebird 1 

Mrs. Love. Don't you know 1 She was to have been married to Sir 
Melton Mowbray, a Leicestershire baronet, enormously rich, and pro- 
portionately stupid, who, on the day preceding that fixed for the wed- 
ding, broke his neck hunting. 

Ladies. Shocking! Dreadful! 

Mrs. Love. Wasn't it 1 And to think that the man might have jumped 
into that quarry quite as well the da} 7 " after as the day before his wed- 
ding, and so have left his inconsolable widow a title and a handsome 
jointure. That was what rendered his loss distressing. 

Ida Parke. But she bears her misfortune with wonderful composure. 

Mrs. Love. Yes, when she's awake she reads novels, and they keep 
her from thinking. 

Ara. Will. Ah, it was a happy thought of yours, my dear Mrs. Love- 
bird, to have instituted the "Broken-Hearted Club, ' where, in sweet se- 
clusion, we poor blighted ones may pour our sorrows into sympathizing 
bosoms. 

Lou. Lips. Undisturbed by the frivolous gayeties of the unfeeling 
world. (Camilla Spooner and Cissy Maythorne are heard laughing in 
the garden off r. u. e. The Ladies appear surprised.) 

Mrs. Love. Laughter ! Oh, 'tis our new companions, Camilla Spooner 
and Cissy Maythorne. 

Enter, d. in F., Camilla Spooner, carrying battledores, and Cissy 
Maythorne, with ivhip, laughing. 

Mrs. Love. Young ladies! Young ladies! are you aware you are 
breaking one of the rules of the Broken-Hearted Club ! We permit a 
mournful smile when we are in spirits, but laughter, never. 

Cissy May. We know we were very wrong. 

Mrs. Love. You come here, my dears, to be miserable. 

Cam. S. And we are very miserable. 

Cissy May. But it was impossible not to laugh at the droll figure of a 
man who popped his bald head through the branches of the cherrv-tree 
that overgrows the garden- wall. 

Ladies {scream and exclaim). A man ! 

Ser. Brook {awakening suddenly). Oh, dear! Ah! what is it? You 



AMATEUR AXD PARLOR THEATRICALS. 21 

have awakened me from a delicious dream of strawberry ices. What has 
happened 1 

Mrs. Love. Something dreadful, my love, {impatiently) There's a man 
in my cherry-tree! (catling l.) Perkins, Perkins, call the police! 

Cam. S. Oh, there's no need to be alarmed ; 'tis only our neighbor, the 
Irish major, who clambered over the garden-wall to fetch our shuttle- 
cock, winch we had tossed into the lane. 

Mrs. Love, {with evident agitation). Major M'Cool ! 

Cam. S. He that sits in the next pew to ours at church every Sunday. 

Cissy May. And keeps his eyes lixed on you the whole time. 

Mrs. Love, (coquettishly) I certainly have noticed the way in which he 
stares at me; but what can you expect from an Irishman on half pay'? 
Where did you leave him, ladies ] 

Cam. S. (laughing). Suspended by his coat-tails from a branch of the 
cherry-tree. 

Mrs. Love, (alarmed). Ol), heavens ! what is to be done? You know 
that by the rules of our society we are bound to uncompromising hostility 
to the other sex. 

Ladies. Hear, hear, hear ! 

Mrs. Love. But humanity teaches us to be generous to a fallen, I 
should say. a suspended enemy. Compassion is the noblest attribute of 
the female heart. The Major is a stout man, and if we leave him dang- 
ling in the cherry-tree he'll have a fit of apoplexy. Shall we suspend our 
rules and save him ? 

Ara. Wil. Yes, yes, suspend our rules, and cut down the Major. 

Cissy May. I'll lend my scissors. 

Cam. S. (looking off at back, titters an exclamation of alarm). You may 
save yourself the trouble ; he lias dropped to the ground like a ripe med- 
lar. Oh ! if he should be scpiashed. No. no, he has got to his feet, and 
is coming this way. 

Mrs. Love. This way! My dear girls, you must retire ; I will remain 
and confront him. One look of mine will petrify the bold intruder. 

Ida Parke. Don't spare him,. Mrs. Lovebird. 

Mrs. Love, No, my dear ; Til think of the departed collector and the 
wrongs of our sex. (All the Ladies except Mrs. Lovebird exeunt r.) 

Enter Major McCool at back with a shuttlecock — his military coat is corn up 

the back. 

Major. I beg pardon, madam. Mrs. Lovebird, I presume, (l. of c.) 

Mrs. Love, {stiffly). That is my name, sir. (c.) 

Major. Ton my honor, there is nothing 1 admoire so much as a 
pretty name, except it be the lovely woman that bears it. 

Mrs. Love, (offended). Sir — a — a — mister— a — major — 

Major. Allow me to introjuce meself — Major McCool, late of the One 
Hundred and Ninety-ninth Foot, retired from the service of Her Majesty 
to devote meself exclusively to the service fo the ladies, God bless 'em, 
with three times three ! 

Mrs. Love. And your business, sir 1 

Major. Me business! I'm pioud to say, ma'am, that the McCools 
were all gintlemen born, and never dirtied their hands with business. 
Dhrinking, foi<rhtin<r, and love-making has been our principal occupation 
ever since the days of Adam. 

Mrs. Love. I mean, sir, what has procured m n the honor of your un- 
expected appearance at Sadgrove Lodge 1 In short, what has brought 
you here 1 

Major. Propitious fate, ma'am. I was taking my usual meditative 



22 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 

walk on the other side of your garden wall — that envious wall which 
hoiues so much beauty from the unhappy world— when suddenly this 
shuttlecock came flying into me eye. If you understand anything of the 
habits, manners, and customs of shuttlecocks, ma'am, you'll purseive— 

Mrs. Love. Pardon me, I have no desire to enter upon a subject so 
flighty in its nature. 

Major. Then we'll leave ornithology (puts the shuttlecock in his pocket) 
and turn to some more agreeable discoorse. Bedad, I'm the pleasantest 
fellow you could meet in a day's walk over a mountain. Did you ever 
hear me tell me famous story of riding a crocodile a-horsehack across 
the Chuckamuddy river in Africa 1 

Mrs. Love. As we never met before, it is not probable I comd have 
heard your famous story, nor have I any wish to hear it now. 

Major. Of coorse, my dear lady, every one to their taste. Maybe you 
have a fancy for military adventures ; I'd like now to tell you a droll 
story of me cousin, Tom Blake, of the Connaught Rangers, who one dark 
night carried oft the ould aunt of Miss Babbington, the great heiress, 
when he thought he had the girl herself snug by his side in the post- 
chaise. 

Mrs. Love. I have no curiosity to know anything about your cousin's 
adventure, sir. 

Major. Haven't you, now ? Well that's a pity, for it was the cause 
of the prettiest duel that was ever seen on the Fifteen Acres ; ami be the 
same token Tom was lamed for loife by a bullet in the knee ; and worse 
than that, he had to marry the ould aunt, laving the heiress to be snap- 
ped up by his sickond, Dick Rafferty ; and that puts me in mind of a 
good story about Dick's wedding. 

Mrs. Love. Pi ay don't trouble yourself, Major. 

Major. It will be a pleasure, Mrs. Lovebird. 

Mrs. Love. I must beg your pardon, I have a particular engagement; 

Major. An engagement ! May I take the liberty of asking if it's a 
matrimonial engagement ? 

Mrs. Love, (embarrassed). Really — a — Major — the — a question — from 
a stranger — is — 

Major. And why should I be a stranger ? Haven't I been foive min- 
utes and a-half in your company ; and didn't Captain Hannigan coort 
and wed his wife in half a minute less time 1 So don't call me a stram 
ger any more; it's not fiendly, Mrs. Lovebird. 

Mrs. Love, (aside). This is a most extraordinary man. How am I to 
get rid of him'? I must be plain with him. Major, 1 have some domes^ 
tic affairs to attend. 

Major. Attend them by all means, my dear madam ; don't mind me ; 
I can wait until you have time to reshume our interesting tete-a-tete, (sits 
R. of table.) 

Mrs. Love. Tete-a-tete ! (aside) This is intolerable ! I have uncon- 
sciously permitted him to draw me into a conversation, and now he seems 
determined to take advanta- e of his position to establish himself here on 
the most familiar terms. What would the " Broken-Hearted Ciub" say 
if they knew of my weakness 1 He shall go instantly, (aloud) Major 
McCool, you must understand the impropriety of your remaining here a 
moment longer ; I have therefore to request you will take your depar- 
ture. 

Major (draws chair forward). With pleasure. 

Mrs. Love. I said take your departure, but you have taken a chair. 

Major (jumping up). A thousand pardons ; I should have offered you 
one first, (places another chair, l. c.) There, now sit down, and we can 
talk quietly and comfortably together. 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 23 

Mrs. Love. Excuse me, sir, will you go 1 

Major. " Go," did you say 1 

Mrs. Love. I said " go." 

Major. Oh, very well, Mrs. Lovebird ; I'm not the man to remain 
one moment in a house where me absence would be welcome (sits, L. c.) 
But I'm bound to say, madam, that the i-erils I've dared to obtain the 
pleasure of this deloightful interview merits some consideration. 

Mrs. Love. Perils! s What perils] 

Major. Bottles, ma'am ! Not that I'm afraid of bottles ; in fact, I've 
seen a good deal of service amongst full ones, but a ehevaux defrise of 
brokeu bottles bristling on the top of a garden wall is not pleasant to the 
feelings. Then there's that ambuscade of your cherry-tree, into which 
I fell and hung, like the Golden Fleece over a draper's door, to the 
serious d image to me military frock, {rises, ani shows his coit split up the 
back) Look at me, Mrs. Lovebird ; — an iligant imitation of a spitchcock. 

Mrs. Love, {aside, laughing). What a ridiculous figure ! But the poor 
man is evidently smitten! Heigho ! I can only pity him. Are you 
aware, Major, that none of your sex are admittei as visitors to Sadgrove 
Lodge ] 

Major. I've heard of that inhuman exclusion, madam ; but pray don't 
consider me as a visitor ; put me down as a permanent lodger, with a 
quarter's notice to quit. 

Mrs. Love. Impossible ! The " Broken-Hearted Club " is composed 
of a few unhappy ladies who have forsworn the society of men. 

Major. Unhappy, ma'am ! I'm not surprised you should be unhap- 
py. Why, you might as well thry to make a jug of punch without whis- 
key as society without men. 

Mas. Love. Ah ! solitude brings solace to the wounded heart. There 
are some sorrows that we must bear alone. 

Major. Why should you bear them alone, when there are so many 
good-natured fellows w r ould be happy to share the burthen of your 
griefs 1 

Mrs. Love. Yes, yes ; sympathy in woe is consoling; but the droop- 
ing lily bends its head, and weeps in silence, {handkerchief to her eyes.) 

Major. Naturally, my dear madam ; but when there's a compassionate 
hand convaynient to dhry those pearly drops, weeping must be rather 
sociable, (applies his handkerchief to her eyes, she starts back.) 

Mrs Love, {angrily). Major! I'm astonished! 

Major. But not displaised, Mrs. Lovebird 1 I give you me word, the 
it of beauty in tears so overcomes me, that 1 don't know what I'm 
doing. 

Mrs Love. Weil, I ought to be very angry, and I shall be if you don't 
g) this moment. 

Major. U.i ! certainly — of coorse — if you desire it. {waves him. to go) 
That's enough. Good day, Mrs. Lovebird. I'm your most obejiant hum- 
ble servant, (bow-;, and is going up stage; stops, and returns down) I beg 
your pardon. Have you such an instrument as a pin you could lend me, 
to repair dilapidations in my coat? 

Mrs. Love, (shortly). No, sir ! 

Major. Never mini, it's of no consequence; they 11 take me for a 
Proosstan aigle. [Exit, n. in v. 

Mrs. Love. At last he's gone, (to r.. McCool re-enters at back\ Ah! 
(to c.) 

Major Only one moment, mv dear madam ; I suspect we're jroing to 
have a shower. I heard a donkey braying, and when a donkey bravs it's 
a sign he's onaisy m his mind. You haven't a sthrav uinb ella about, 
you i 



24 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 

Mrs. Love. I'm sorry to say I have not. 

Major. It don't matter in the least. If it rains I can run home be- 
tween the dhrops. Good evening Mrs. Lovebird. [Exit at back. 

Mrs. Love. So ; I. don't think he can invent any other pretext for 
coming back. (McCool re-enters at bade) Good heavens ! 

Major (entering). I'm here again like a tax-collector ; but it's not an 
umbrella this time — it's a shuttlecock; the shuttlecock of the -'Broken- 
Hearted Club," which I was carrying olf indiscriminately, without my 
knowlege. (takes the shuttlecock out of his pocket and offers it to Mrs. L.) 
Allow me, ma'am, to place the fugitive in your hands. By-the-by, if 
you're partial to shuttlecock, I'd be proud to have game with you. 

Mrs. Love. I don t play shuttlecock, Major. 

Major. That's a pity, for shuttlecock is a foine invigorating and phil- 
osophic game, which teaches us to bear the bangs of fortune with indif- 
ference. You have an elegant figure for battledore, Mrs. Lovebird. 
(about to embrace her.) 

Mrs. Love. Major! Major! I must not listen to another word from 
you. Are you going % 

Major, I'm gone, madam, (going ) stops) But you'll excuse me for re- 
marking that if there was. any way of rethreating without dishonor — ex- 
cept your garden wall, it would bo a great ?*eiief to my mind. 

Mrs. Love. There's the garden gate ; you'll find the key on the man- 
telpiece. 

Major (taking the key from the mantelpiece). Then you really wish to 
deprive yourself of my agreeable company % 

Mrs. Love, (sentimentally). Ah ! Major, we cannot, always consult our 
own inclinations. My will must bend itself to .my duty, (laughter, and 
female voices outside, r.) 

Major. What's that? 

Mrs. Love, (in a suppressed voice). Two of our young members, who, I 
am ashamed to say, sometimes forget their griefs in the hollow echoes of 
mirth. 

Major. Poor things ! I'll lave them in their sorrow, (going.) 

Mrs. Love. Mind you shut the garden gate after you. 

Major. Don't be afraid, I'll lock the door before T go out ! [Exit back. 

Mrs. Love. A more impudent, irrepressible man than that Irish Major 
I never met; — so agreeable, too. and fascinating. But I'm glad he's 
gone, for I felt I required all my firmness to maintain the decent dejec- 
tion of my widowed condition. Heigho ! perhaps he was rMit — the 
crushed heart needs consolation and support. 

Enter from R., Cissy Maythorne and Camilla Sfooner, tie former hum- 
ming a lively air, and dancing. 

Mrs. Love. Miss Maythcrne, my love, the " Broken-Hearted Club " 
don't dance. 'Tis against our rules. 

Cissy M. Oh .' I'm always forgetting those awful rules, a^d fancying 
that I'm not so utterly wretched as I ought to be. 

Cam. S. But we try all we can. 

Cissy M. Sometimes I fancy I'm in a crowded ball-room, listening to 
the delicious strains of Coote's band, surrounded by eager candidates for 
my hand in the next waltz. Ah! (placing her hand on her heart) that 
pang reminds me of the faithless Charles Pleydell. 

Mrs. Love. Smell my sal volatile, dear, and tell me how he was faith- 
less, (gives smelling- salts bottle.) 

Cissy M. He danced one evening with that odious flirt, Flora Freke. 
No girl of proper spirit could endure such a slight, so I told him plainly 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 25 

what I thought of his conduct. He huffed— I pouted — and finally we 
agree 1 to part forever. 

Mrs. Love. And you, my dear Miss Spconer ; your young affections, 
too, have been blighted in tne blossom. 

Cam. S. Cruelly blighted! I do not blush to say that I loved Frank 
Flexor, and I believe Frank adored me as much as any medical student 
of Guy's coul 1; but I found that I only shared his affections. 

Cissy M. Oh ! a rival ] 

Cam. S. Yes; and it-was humiliating to discover that my rival was a 
short, black, ugly little pipe. 

Cissy M. The unsentimental wretch ! I hope you dismissed him. 

Cam. S. Of course I did, with a request that he should never appear 
in my presence again. In ten minu.es I had a telegram from him in- 
forming me that my letter had so cut him up that he had retired to 
Southend to die, and had bequeathed his miserable remains to the College 
of Surgeons. I dropped a silent tear, 'twas all that I could bestow, upon 
his mournful lines, and hastened to bury my sorrows in this calm retreat. 

Enter Perkins, l. 

Perk. Oh ! please, 'm, a young man from Broadwood's is come to tune 
the piano, and there's another party from Mr. Pendlum, the watchmaker, 
to put the clock to rights. 

Mrs. Love. Why, bless me ! the piano was tuned only last week, and 
the clock is in excellent order. However, show them in, Perkins. 

[Exit Perkixs, l. 

Cissy M. I'm sure we all go like clockwork in this house. 

Re-enter Perkixs, l.. folloived bg Charles Pleydell, a pianoforte tuner, 
wearing spectacles, and by Frank Flexor, a clockmaker's assistant, 
wearing a linen apron tucked aside, and carrying a green-baize bag, 

Ch. Pley. {aside to Frank F.) You go first, Frank. 

Frank F. {aside to Ch. Pley.) Not at all; the artist before the me, 
chanic. (pushes Pleydell forward.) 

Ch. Pley. {takes off his hat to Mrs. Love., and speaks aside to Cissy M.). 
Miss Maytho ne. 

Cissy M. {starting ; and apart). Charles Pleydell ! 

Cam. S. {recognizing Frank; and apart). 'Tis Frank himself. 

Mrs. Love, {to Pleydell). I fear you have made some mistake, sir 5 
the piano has been so lately timed. 

Ch. Pley. Pardon me, madam. The abnormal state of the anemome- 
ter, with the rapid fall of the thermometer, and a total absence of ozone 
in the atmosphere, indicates a sudden change in the condition of all legal 
and musical instruments. Allow me to demonstrate the curious fact to 
you. {goes to the piano, and strikes sever td discords upon the kegs) You 
perceive, madam ; not a note in tune. We must have a ne exeat regno 
on the velocipede of the minor key, and 'twill require a day at least to 
procu-e perfect unanimity amongst those chords, {striking the kegs.) 

Mrs. Love. But Mr. a — a. Mr. 

Ch. Pley. Buffer, ma'am — my name's Buffer. 

Mrs. Love. Mr. Buffer, I must say I don't quite comprehend your sci- 
entific terms. 

Ch. Pley. It is not essential, madam, that you should. People gener- 
ally believe what they don't understand better than what they do , and, 
so believe in the artist who tunes your piano, (striking the piano kegs.) 

Mrs. Love, {aside). He's uncommonly clever, {she goes up the stage—* 



26 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 

Camilla Spooner comes to fire-place, l. and pretends to arrange the flowers 
in a vase on a mantelpiece, while Frank Flexor seems to be examining the 
chimney clock.) 

Ch. Pley. {aside to Cissy M.). I must have two minutes to say my 
heart is {tuning, aloud) flat ! 

Cam. S. {aside to Frank F.). What ou earth brings you here 1 I 
thought you were dead by this time. 

Frank F. {aside to Camilla). So I should be, but Southend is so slow 
that it takes a man a lifetime to die there. 

Mrs. Love, {coming down front). Young man, young man, don't touch 
that clock; there's nothing the matter with it. 

Frank F. {at table, front). Allow me to differ with you, madam ; there's 
a serious dislocation of the main spring, (shaking the clock) The machine 
is in a very shaky condition — complete internal derangement — break- 
down in the balance wheel — nervous system sadly shattered. 

Mrs. Love. Good gracious ! You are destroying the clock, sir. 

Frank F. Not at all, madam ; the case requires vigorous treatment. 
{shakes the clock violently ; at the same time Pleydell makes a prodigious 
discord on the piano.) 

Ch. Pley. {aside to Cissy). 'Tis vain to struggle with my fate, {aloud) 
The soft pedal don't act. {aside to her) I cannot say, farewell, {crash on 
the piano.) 

Mrs. Love, {clapping her hands on her ears). What a horrid crash! {goes 
up the stage.) 

Ch. Pley. {aside to Cissy M.j. Say that you forgive me ; tell me that 
we shall meet again, in a better world, at a soiree dansante in Belgravia, 
next winter. Swear on the tomb of your ancestors that you will dance 
the first waltz with me. 

Cissy M. {aside to Ch. Pley., and extending her arm in act of swearing). 
I swear with pleasure, {recollecting herself, coldly) I mean — no — certainly 
not ! 

Frank F. {aside to Cam. S.). Ah ! you will repent your cruelty, Cam- 
illa, when the heart that adores you has ceased to beat, {holds the clock to 
his ear) There's not a stir in it now. 

Mrs. Love, {coming down). Will you put down that clock, sir? I'm 
surprised Mr. Pendlum should send a person here who apparently knows 
nothing of his business. 

Frank F. Pardon me. madam ; I've made horological anatomy my 
peculiar study, and if you'll allow me to explain to this young lady the 
effect of a compound fracture of the os humerus 

Mrs. Love. No, sir, I'll not allow you ; but I desire that you tal q 
yourself away directly. 

Frank F. My honor will not permit me to quit this house, madam, 
until I have repaired the injury which this valuable timepiece has sus- 
tained, {he places the clock on table, c, sits at table, and takes hammer and 
tools out of green bag, begins to hammer at the clock.) 

Mrs. Love. Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! there's nothing the matter with it ! 
this is dreadful, {goes up stage.) 

Ch. Pley. {aside to Cissy M.). Say not that we must part, 'twould 
break my heart strings, {he strikes the piano violently) There are three of 
them gone at once. 

Mrs. Love. That piano-tuner will drive me distracted. [Exit into garden. 
Frank Flexor and Camilla Spooner retire into recess of window, r. u. e., 

Ch. Pley. {to Cissy M.). You know that my heart has been devoted 
to you alone. 

Cissy M. [ know nothing of the sort. Were you not dying for Flora 
JVeke. ? You danced with her twice the same ttigUt. 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 27 

Ch. Pley. Twice ! and I have survived it. Let me explain how it oc- 
curred. (Frank Flexor and Camilla S. come down from window, r. u. e. 
Ch. Pleydell and Cissy M. go up stage conversing apart, and go into 
recess of window ', r. u. e.) 

Frank F. (to Camilla). Is there no sacrifice I can make that may con- 
vince you of the strength of my passion 1 Bid me pay my bailor's bill, 
shave my moustache, or break my cherished meerschum before your eyes ! 

Cam. S. Would you indeed do that 1 

Frank F. Would I ! Let me hasten to the nearest magistrate to 
make an affidavit of the fact, (going, Camilla S. restrains him.) 

Cam. S. It is unecessary ; I believe the simple assurance of your love, 
(timidly) and if my hand be worth your acceptance 

Frank F. My acceptance ! Certainly, if you desire it. At three 
months for any amount. 

Cam. S. All, we should be so happy, Frank, but for one trifling cir- 
cumstance. I'm awfully wretched. 

Frank F. You — you wretched ! Oh, joy, oh, rapture ! (she iveeps) 
Hah ! you weep — you weep for me. Let us weep together, and fly to 
some wilderness and be miserable for the rest of our lives. 

Cam. S. How delightful that would be ! (they go up the stage and converse 
apart in the garden, without being out of view. Ch. Pleydell and Cissy M. 
come down from window, R.) 

Cissy M. Do not tempt me, Charles, to forsake this tranquil abode, 
where our lives have been so serenely stupid. Do not urge me to break 
the resolution I have taken to live and die with my companions in sorrow. 
What would they th:nk of me — what would they say, were I to desert 
them 1 

Ch. Pley. Oh ! if you have scruples I must respect them, but I can't 
help thinking how the Park will have lost it's most charming eques- 
trienne. 

Cissy M. (sadly). Ah ! who will ride my beautiful little Arab 1 

Ch. Pley. That attracted only less admiration than his fair mistress. 

Cissy M. Ah ! the delicious recollection of an exhilarating canter at- 
tended by a brilliant cortege of cavaliers, (sighs) Heigho ! w r hat am I 
saying 1 I should remember I have taken leave of those frivolous plea- 
sures forever \ 

Enter LousiA Lipscombe, r. She appears flurried, at the same time Camilla 
and Cissy come down stage, r. and it, 

Lou. Lips. Good gracious, 'tis he ! 

Cam. S. ) What is the matter 1 

Cissy M. ) What has happened 1 

Lou. Lips, (agitated). He's come! I saw him cross the road ; I heard 
his knock at the door. 

Cam. S. (r. a). His 7 Whose! 

Lou. Lips, (mysteriously). Arthur Chomley's. 

Cissy M. (l. a). The wretch who jilted you? 

Cam. S. The monster who trifle I with your affections ? 

Lou. Lips. The same. But don't be afraid that \ shall shame the 
" Broken-Hearted Club." Ill neither see him, hear him, or speak to him. 

[Exit r. 1 e. 
Perkins enters l. 1 E. 

Perk. No, sir ; I beg your pardon, you mustn't, its contrary to orders. 
Gentlemen ain't admitted on no business whatever, No, sir, you mustn't, 
indeed. Oh, dear I 



28 AMATEUR AXD PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



Enter Arthur Chomley, l., forcing past Perkins, who endeavors to prevent 

his entrance. 

Perk. Mistress will be angry, sir, and I shall lose my place. 

[Exit L. 1 E. 

Arthur Ch. I assure you, ladies, I am not a bird of prey, pouncing 
upon a flock of trembling "doves. My intentions are of the most harm. ess 
character — merely to speak to a young lady, {aside) I saw her retreating 
into th*t room. Hem! she avoids me, I'll try if I can't draw her from 
her concealment, {aloud) A young lady whom I pronounce in the face of 
the world to be a heart.ess flirt — an accomplished jilt — I say, a jilt. 

Enter Lousia Lips., r. 

Lou. Lips, {passionately). Do you dare to call me a flirt, sir, a jilt — a 
jiltl (Cissy and Camilla alarmed, go up stage.) 

Arthur C. {laughing). All a trick, my dear Lou., to make you put in 
an appearance. And now that we have met, we shall never part again. 

Lou. Lips. Mr. Chomley, I consider this intrusion impertinent, and 
you language insulting. What would Miss Lombard say to this treason. 

Arthur 0. Oh ! you have heard and believed that ridiculous canard. 
Dismiss it from your mind. You. and you only, have been the object of 
my affections. Will you now banish me from your presence 1 (drops on his 
knees and takes her hand) will you spurn me if here, kneeling at you feet, 
I dedicate to you the remainder of my lifr 1 

Lou. Lips. Dear Arthur ! {he rises) What is to become of the " Broken- 
Hearted Club?" 

Arthur C. Let them follow our example. Lou. {embraces her.) 

At the same moment Pleydell and Flexor start from behind the curtain ; 
the former places his arm round Cissy's, and the latter round Camilla's 
waist. Mrs. Lovebird enters. The young ladies start in confusion 
from their lovers. 

Mrs. Love, {screaming). Robbers! Fire! Murder! Somebody help ! 
The house is full of robbers and burglars! Oh! help! (c.) 

Arthur C. Don't be alarmed, madam, {approaching Mrs. Love.) 
\ Ch. Pley. Our designs are honorable, {approaching Mrs. Love., same.) 

Mrs. Love. Don't come near me. 

Enter from garden at back, Major McCool. 

Major {coming down). What's the matter'? Who's been murdered ? 

Mrs. Love, {throwing herself info the Major's arms, c). Oh! Major! 
heaven has sent you to save us. You'll defend us, won't you ? 

Major. To the last drop of me blood. 

Mrs. Love. And you'll protect the plate 1 

Major. To' the last spoon, ma darling ! 

Arthur C. I'm sorry the Major's gallantry will not be put to the test 
on this occasion. The only object of which I would rob the " Broken- 
Hearted Club " is this young lady's hand, (Lousia gives him her hand) 
which you perceive she gives mo freely. 

Ch. Pley. (taking Cissy's hand). Here is the prize for which I dared 
to tread this forbidden ground. 

Frank F. {taking Camilla's hand). And this is the only excuse I cau 
offer for my temerity. 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS, 29 

Mrs, Loye. Ladies, ladies, can this be true ] 
Cissy M. ) Pray don't be angry with us. 
Cam. S. > Indeed we could l.ot help it. 
Lou. L. ) But we're very sorry. 
All. Oh ! very ! 

Enter Ida Parke and Araminta Willowby, r. All the Dike*'*, cxcepz 
. Mrs. Lovebird, yo up. 

IdaParke (r. a). Mrs. Lovebird, {produces a letter) I havejuit received 
this letter from poor Tom Hazel ton, in which he begs me to forgive and 
forget his absurd jealousy, and altogether expresses himself in such an 
humble and penitent strain that I fear I must giant his petition and retire 
from this delightful retreat 

Ara. Will. Where we enjoyed such sweet serenity of soul ; but the 
truth is, I have just learnt from a friend that I have wronged Stanley 
Graham. The darling fellow has ever been faithful to me, Heigho I if 
marriage be my fate, I trust I may meet it with becoming resignation. 

Mrs. Love. And shall I be left alone, as the poet says, like the last 
rose of summer, to pine on the stem, When all my companions are wed- 
ded and gone ! 

Major [coming forward). Forbid it, all ye hymeneal gods ! There's a 
heart, Mrs. Lovebird, swelling beneath this military frock, which throbs 
for beauty in distress. Lay your blushing cheek, my dear madam, upon 
that manly pillow, and rest in paice upon it for the rest of your days! 

Mrs. Loye. All! Major! I never thought to be led to the altar again, 
but your eloquence is so persuasive that I consent, {gives him her hand) 
There is my hand. 

Major (kissing it). Soft melting treasure, (aside) Five hundred a year 
at laste. 

Mrs. Loye. (to the aud>encv). Our little comedy is played out ; and 
now, as we are all provided with partners, we will, if you have no objec- 
tion, Scish in the good, old-fashioned style, with a dance by the " Brok- 
en-Hearti£3 Clue." 

I)a?ice ly the characters. 



CUZTAIN. 



80 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



COSTUMES {English, present time). 

Major McCool.— Irishman. Black ooat, split up behind from bet-ween tails to 

neck-band ; light pants ; sandy moustache, rather long ; black hat, white vest., 
Frank Flexor.— Black coat, grey pants, hat ; white apron, with upper flap and. 

band, to go round the neck ; the left hand lower corner tucked up at the waist.. 
Charles Pleydell.— Spectacles, black coat, light pants, hat. 
Arthur Chomley. — Military moustache, uniform, red sash from shoulder to hip ; 

fatigue cap. 
Mrs. Lovebird. — Lace cap, house dress. 
Cissy Maythorne.— Dark blue riding-habit and pantaloons to match ; hat, whip ; 

white gloves. 
Camilla Spooner.— Light dress, hair down, loose. 
Ida Parke, Lipscombe, Brook,— Light house-dresses. 
Perkins.— Blue dress, white cap and apron. 



EXPLANATION OF THE STAGE DIRECTIONS. 

The Actor is supposed to faoe the Audience. 



/ 



SCENE. 



L. TJ. E. 



\ 



/ 



B. 13. 



/ 



L. ?E. 



l. 2i 



L. IE. 



/ 

St. B. C. C. 

AUDIENCE. 


\ 

L. C. L. 


l. Left. 
L. c. Left Centre. 
L. 1 e. Left First Entrance. 
L. 2 e. Left Second Entrance. 
l. 3 e. Left Third Entrance. 
l. u. e. Left L T pper Entrance 
(wherever this Scene may be.) 


c. 

R. 

R. 1 E. 
R. 2 E. 
R. 3e. 
R. U. E. 
D.R. C. 


Centre. 

Right. 

Eight Eirst Entrance. 

Right Second Entrance. 

Right Third Entrance. 

Right Upper Entrance, 

Door ttight Centre^ 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 31 

SYNOPSIS. 

An elegant drawing-room is the place in which all the incidents of this piece 
transpire. Mrs. Lovebird, Abamtnta Willowby, Louisa Lipscombe, Serena 
Brooke , and Ida Park are all in different parts of the room, engaged in various 
lady-like employments, and conversing about the selfishness and tyranny of that 
monster, -Man ; and each of them indulges in retrospective sketches of " man's inhu- 
manity to "—woman. They all solemnly vow to avenge the wrongs of their sex 
upon the opposite one. Camilla Spooner and Cissy Maythorne enter, laughing 
boisterously, and report that one Major McCool is dangling from the branches of 
a cherry tree in the garden. Mrs. Lovebird is deputed to release him, and bid him 
withdraw from the premises occupied by " The Broken-Hearted Club." Before she 
can release the Major he comes in, and by his honeyed blarneyisms gains the good- 
will of the lady before he apparently leaves the premiss. Soon Charles Pi.eydell 
and Frank Flexor enter ; they are disguised respectively as a piano-forte tuner 
and a clock maker's assistant. Cissy Maythorne and Camilla Spooler, who are 
in the apartment with Mrs. Lovebird when these two " frauds " enter, very soon 
recognize them as their old sweetheart?, and indulge in reminiscences of their ball- 
room flirtations. Here a very lively and witty conversation ensues. Mrs. Love- 
bird being ignorant of the real character of the two disguised gallants, and failing 
to get rid of them, she retires to the garden. Louisa Lipscombk enters, much 
flurried, and telling Cissy M. that Arthur Chomley is at the do r,?:>d that she 
will not see the wretch who had trifled with her affections. Arthup. C, however, 
forces his way in past the servant, and loudly denounces Louisa L. as a jilt. This 
brings the lady to face him ; after a sharp dialogue the lady relents, and ends by 
allowing Arthur to embiv.ce her. Pleydell and Flex r come from behind a cur- 
tain embracing their respective sweethearts, as Mrs. Lovebird comes in. This 
latter lady is horrified at the appearance of so many men, and sets up a violent 
screaming. With this Majo* McCool marches in from the garden, and the agi- 
tated Mrs. L. throws herself into his arms, calling loudly upon the gallant soldier 
to protect them all. Here Ida Parke and Araminta Willowby come on, an- 
nouncing that they had just received letters explanatory from their lovers. Then 
follow mutual excuses and forgiveness. Everything becomes lovely, and the 
sprightly piece winds up with a dance by all the characters. 



TIME OF PLAYING— FORTY-FIVE MINUTES. 



32 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



CAST OF CHARACTERS. 



Major McCool, a retired Irish Major... 
Charles Pleydell, of the Inner Temple 

Frank Flexor, of Guy's , 

Arthur Choinley, of the Guards , 

Mrs. Lovebird, 

Miss Louisa Lipscombe, 

Miss la a Parke, 

Miss Araminta Willowby, 

Miss Cissy Maythorne, 

Miss Camilla Spooner, 

Miss Serena Brook, 

Perkins, 



Members of 

the Broken-Hearted 

Club. 



Hay market Theatre, London, 
January 16, 1868. 
....Mr. Braid. 
. . . .Mr. Walter Gordon; 
.... Mr. We ATHERSON. 
....Mr. H. Vincent. 
'Mrs. Chippendale. 

Miss Matthews. 

Miss Coleman. 

Miss Fanny Wright. 

Miss Ione Burke. 

Miss Dalton. 

Miss E. Harrison. 

^MissLewin. 



SCENERY. 

| Garden on fiat. | , 



f Open. 



Hi Chair. Etagere. 



Piano. 



Chair. -;;j 



Chair. $& Etagere. $ Chair. 
$ Chair. 
Fireplace. "] 



Chair. 



-:;:- Chair. 
Chair. $ Table. •& Chair. 



8 



* Chair. 



Chair. * 1 



Elegant room on four grooves ; d.'s in l. and r. 1 e., practicable ; open doorway in 
flat on three grooves. Carpet down. Clock and vases on mantel, l. 2 e. set. 



PROPERTIES (See " Scenery.") 
Rug, poker, shovel to fireplace ; two vases and clock on mantel ; newspaper for 
Mrs. Lovebird ; whip for Miss Maythorne ; books, card-basket, knick-knacks on 
tables and etageres ; hammer and tools in bag for Flexor; crayon and paper on 
table, L. c. front, for Miss Willowby ; battledores and one shuttlecock. 



OKE TOO MAKY FOB HIM. 



SCENE. — jl comfortaUy furnisne,. parlor m a country house. At back, a, 
a glass door (with windows extending half way down), through which a 
conservatory is seen, r. a table with writing materials — doors r. and l. 
Table, chairs, etc. 

Nancy {discovered brushing a coat). What pains gentlemen do take 
with themselves, when they come a-courting — they always put on bran 
new things. Now here's a han'som' coat ! a regular lovyer's coat! Ah ! 
I've brushed a few lovycr's coats since I first came to service in this 
house. Poor young fellows ! they come down here all in their Sunday 
best, looking like so many valentines, ail brim full of iove and hope and 
what not, but bless you. before they've been here a week. Mr. de Walker 
gives 'em the cold shoulder, and shows 'em the door as neat as ninepence, 
and Miss Isabella is as far off being married as ever. Ah, he's a rare 
enemy to marriages, is master ! 

Enter Mr. de Walker, door in flat, c. 

De W. Nancy ! 

Nancy. Why I declare if master isn't up already ! 

De W. Already ! I've been awake ever since four ! Mr. — a— a — 
{irritably} What the devil's his name, came down last night, didn't he ? 

Nancy. Mr. Brompton, sir 1 yes, sir! he arrived after all the family 
had gone to bed. John, the gardener, let him in, he said he missed the 
afternoon train by just two minutes. 

De W. 1 wish he had missed it altogether, {anxiously) But what's he 
like 1 frightful, hideous, eh 1 

Nancy. Law, sir, / don't know. 

De W. (angrily). Don't know ? (pointing to coat) Haven't you been into 
his room to fetch his coat 1 

Nancy. Lawks, no sir ! (disdainfully) Do you think I'd go into a 
gentleman's room while he was in bed ? It was John the gardener who 
fetched it out ! 

De W. He snores ! eh ? I'm sure John told you he snored — loudly, vio- 
lently, repulsively, eh 1 and wears a night-cap, eh ? an odious, un- 
picturesque night-cap — (anxiously) eh ? 

Nancy. Law, sir. how should I know. 

De W. (much annoyed). Senseless menial, you never know anything — 
away ! 

Nancy (aside). Ah. master's in one of his tranlnnns — ho always is 
when anyone comes down to pop to Miss Isabella, (opens door jr., hastily 
throws coat in cros^ea stage, and exit l.) 

De W. (alone soliloquizing). Who would be a father ! who would 1 (to the 



34 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 

audience) Oh, I thought I heard somebody say he would, and I shouldn't 
wonder if he would. There's a good deal to be said in favor of it — but 
there's one fatal drawback — in all probability he may have children — nay, 
perhaps an only child — an only daughter, like myself — no, I don't mean 
that, Tm an only daughter — I mean a daughter as I have — and in 
that case I give him notice that there" s trouble in store for him ! Let him 
take warning by my sad fate — yes, 1 have a daughter, a darling child, 
tny only treasure, the apple of my eye. She lost her mother before she 
was a year old, and I became her solitary parent, and though I say it, 
she was the sweetest little thing you ever set eyes upon. But cantank- 
erous — oh, very, in fact a more cantankerous baby I never knew. I 
don't mean to say that she was a bad child, oh dear no, quite the reverse, 
she was what old ladies call " as good as gold " — but the little monkey 
would have nothing to say to anyone but me • I must always be nurs- 
ing her, feeding her, dressing her, in short I was transformed into a 
regular old nurse, without the wages ! Never mind, / was happy, and 
she was happy, and we've been happy ever since. Well, on we went till 
time came to send her to school. But there the same difficulty arose. No 
school suited her, because papa wasn't with her. One after the other 
was tried, but all of no use. Fifteen different seminaries for young ladies 
in two years — with a dozen towels, knife, fork, and spoon to each — fifteen 
knifes, forks, and spoons, and a hundred and eighty towels — all swallowed 
up in two years ! Then I had daily governesses, by the score, followed by 
resident governesses, and a pretty life they led me. Salary "not so much 
an object as a comfortable situation, and I will do them the justice to say 
that comfortable they made themselves. Four meals a day were nothing 
at all. Such appetites I never saw, what appetites they had to be sure, 
and so particular too. Why, the last threatened to leave, because one day 
the veal was underdone, and I had to discharge the cook, who, by the 
bye, summoned me to the County Court for the balance of her wages, 
<£4 15s. 9d. — and though I made oath that the veal was not underdone, 
the judge decided — But however, all this has nothing to do with the ques- 
tion, but the governesses bills have, for they were pretty stiff ones, I can 
tell 3'ou. Why, bless you, I had the girl taught French, German, Italian, 
music, flower painting on velvet, and every other elegant accomplish- 
ments, including the use of the globes — and what for, I should like to 
know 1 Now comes the beauty of he thing — why to bestow her upon the 
first puppy in lavender kids and patent leathers who chooses to take a 
fancy to her, and who may carry her off to the Antipodes for all I know, 
or for all he cares. Twenty years we have lived together in peace and tran- 
quillity, doating upon each other, living for each other, not a thought but 
for each other — when all of a sudden, would you believe it, hang me if she 
doesn't be^in talk about getting married, to talk about nothing but getting 
married, I call it disgusting ! Married, indeed, just as though the ceremony 
didn't involve a total separation from her poor dear father — it's downright 
selfish. There are hundreds of girls that would suit any of the coxcombs 
as well — then why strip me of the only child I've got to my back. I can't 
see what all the young fellows see in her, for my part I'm sure she's as 
common-place a girl as anyone could wish — she's not clever, she's not a 
beauty, In fact she's of no use to anyone but the owner — but she happens 
to suit me, I've reared and fed her and taught her, and I've a right to her, 
yes, I have a right to her, indeed, I don't know what I am to do with- 
out her. Who is to sing me charming little songs, and play me 
" Home, sweet Home," with brilliant variations 1 (rubbing his hands glee- 
fully) Hitherto, I must say I've hit upon a most ingenious method of get- 
ting rid of the troublesome young coxcombs who dare to propose for her, 
I receive them in the warmest and most cordial manner, I then dexter- 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 35 

ously bring to light any trifling defects they may possess, and straightway 
report them to my daughter as fan ts of the blackest and most hideous de- 
scription ; my daughter assumed a becoming coldness of deportment, and 
before three days have elapsed, the young dogs discover that it's " no go !"■ 
(chuckling) and sneak back to town horribly discomfited — ha. ha, ha! very 
ingenious ! (uneasily) I tear I shall find it a more difficult matter to 
get rid ci this M . — Mr. — {irritably) what the plague's his name 1 the 
references are aggravatingly satisfactory, and what's worse, his suit ts 
highly approved of by my sister Euphemia, and my sister Euphemia is 
rich and unmarried, two rather important considerations — however, I 
warrant he'll find me " One too many for him '' before I've done with him ! 
(imj Now then ! is the lazy lubber going to stop in bed all day ] 

I in longing to analyze his character, exaggerate his deficiencies, and 
send the intrusive Cockney packing back to his smoky metropolis! 

r Isabella, l., running. 

Isabel, (eagerly). My dear papa, aunt tells me that Mr. Cymon 
Brompton came down last night ! I'm so glad, for he is such a nice young 
man ! 

De W. {alarmed). Nice young man ! there's no such thing ! the race is 
extinct — besides, my dear child, such expressions are highly improper in 
the mouth of a young lady. You are not of an age to form an opinion on 
such complicated subjects. 

Isabel Why, pa. I'm nearly twenty — my friend, Miss Matilda Price 
was married at seventeen. 

De W. Absurd ! nonsense ! such infantine marriages never end well. 
Besides as regards this Mr. — Mr. — thingumeriy — I've a strong presenti- 
ment that he will not turnout — a — a — ;he precise tiling 

Isabel, (vexed). Now there papa, there ! I see you are determined to 
dislike everybody who pays me the slightest attention. 

De W. (pretending to be much hurt). Now that is an unjust remark, a 
cruelly unjust remark — I, who actually go about beating up husbands for 
you! touting for them, I may say! Why you ve had no less than nine 
suitors introduced to you within the last half year, that's just one and a 
half a month — I'm sure many young ladies would be quite satisfied with 
so liberal an allowance ! 

Isabel. But, pa, you know you sent them all away again ! 

De W. Of course I did. the selfish, interested fellows — they were none of 
them goo I enough for you, my dear. No, no, I'm determ ne-d that when 
you do get a husband, he shall be a model spouse, a perfect paragon of 
marital perfections ! 

Euphemia, l. — She is attired in a ivould-be juvenile and romantic style, 
and speaks throughout in a gushing and sentimental manner. 

Ecpii. (speaking as she enters). The silver tea-urn, mind, and all the old 
chirm! (eagerly to De Walker) By the bye, brother, I wonder whether 
Mr. Brompton likes smoked salmon ! 

De W. How should I know 1 You surely wouldn't have had me wake 
up the young man while he was snoring'? 

Isabel. Snoring, pa ! 

De W. Ah, to be sine ! it's quite a pleasure to hear him — through the 
wall, (aside) Rub number one. (aloud) You wouldn't have had me wake 
up the young man on purpose to inquire whether he liked smoked sal- 
mon ! (significantly) Why he'd have sworn at me from beneath his cotton 
nightcap ! 





C3 AMATEUIi a:;i; parlor theatricals. 

Isabel. Cotton nightcap ! you don't mean to say he wears a cotton 
nightcap 1 

De W. Ay! with a tassel to it as long as my arm I Nancy told me so. 
{aside, chuckling) Rub number two ! 

Euph. (severely). Now Theophilus, you're beginning the old game, I 
see ! but mark me, sir! you are aware that I enjoy a comfortable little 
income, ami that (simp&nngly) although possessed of personal advantages 
certainly above mediocrity, I have heroically condemned myself to an 
unwedded existence solely to insure the fortune of our darling Bella. 
(sentimentally striking attitude) Like to the shipwrecked mariner who from 
his desert rock beholds - 

De W. Oh hang the shipwrecked mariner ! 

Euph. As you please, sir, but you know our Bella's marriage is my 
darling project, and I am of opinion that Mr. Cymon Brompton is a most 
eligible candidate for Bella's hand ; I trust therefore that you will not 
treat him as you have done all Bella's other suitors, whom you packed 
off like so many discharged lackeys ; no, no, sir, I mean to keep a very 
sharp eye upon 3'ou this time. 

Isabel, (aside). And socio I, pa ! /can tell you ! 

Euph. Hush ! here comes Mr. Brompton. 

De W. (a side y arinding his teeth). Hang the fellow/ 

Enter Mr. Brompton, r. 

Ah, my dear Mr. Brompton, good morning. 

Mr. B. (bowing). Ton my word, ladies, I have to apologize for making 
my appearauce so late, but my nocturnal journey by coach and rail 
somewhat fatigued me. 

Euph. My dear Mr. Brompton, don't mention it. Theophilus, allow 
me to introduce Mr. Cymon Brompton. 

De W. (shaking hands with exaggerated cordiality). Delighted, I'm sure. 
(aside) Dangerous looking young dog ! 

Euph. (indicating Isabella). My niece Isabella's acquaintance, you 
have already made. 

Mr. B. (ardently). Yes, during an ecstatic half-hour of rapturous polk- 
ing ! Ah ! the report I had heard of Miss de Walker was flattering in the 
extreme, but believe me, I found the reality as superior to my fondest 
expectations as is — a — a — Venus of Praxiteles to a — a — a — a — plaster of 
Farts nymph ! 

Euph. (to Walker, admiringly). How refined, how mythological ! 

De W. (uneasily). A — a — uncommonly mythological — but stop, stop, 
where have I met with that exquisite simile before, (pretending to re- 
member) Ah ! in the supplementary number of the Gentleman's Magazine 
for February, 1830, (aside) Rub number three I 

Euph. (reproachfully). Theophilus ! 

Mr. B. (aside, puzzled). Why I concocted it in the train as I came down. 

Euph. Of course, Mr. Brompton, you intend to spend a few days with 
us — a week at least 1 

Mr. B. A week! (looking li unutterable things" at Isabella) I feel 
already that nothing but armed force will ever induce me to leave at all ! 

De W. (aside, alarmed). Confound the puppy's impudence ! 

Enter Nancy, l. 

Nancy. Please, sir. Squire Merton is outside in his gig, he wants to 
speak to you and Miss Phemia, and hasn't a moment to stop. 
Eufu. Squire Met'ton ! 



.AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 37 

De W. Go, Euphemia ! tell him I'll be with him directly ! {exeunt 
Euphemia and Xaxcy, l. — to Brompton) My dear sir, you'll excuse us 
for two minutes. 

Mr. B. Don't mention it. No ceremony with me — besides — (gallantly) 
I shall fill up the time most agreeably with Miss de Walker. 

Be W. (aside). Not if I know it. ! (anxiously — seizing Bella's arm. and 
drawing her towards door — aloud) A — a — unfortunately Bella has domestic 
duties 

Isabel. No, I haven't, pa ! 

De W. (continuing, and drawing Bella after him). Yes. you have, miss ! 
urgent family matter; — {making signs to Bella) — which require her 
immediate attention — you'ii pardon our brief absence, my dear Syden- 
ham. 

Mr. B. Brompton. sir, Brompton! 

De W. Ah. Brompton. to be sure. Come Bella, (to Brompton, sig- 
nificantly) A — a — you'll find the i- Gentleman's Magazine" on the table. 

[Exeunt l. 

Mr. B. Hang the ' ; Gentleman's Magazine ! ' I thought I was going to 
have a delicious tete-a-tete with the object of my affections — charming 
girl this Miss de Walker — she made such a violent impression upon me 
at a party in town that I have come a hundred and fifty miles per coach 
and rail, to offer my heart and hand. Hang me though, if 1 know what 
to make of that unpleasantly well read papa ! I must be careful with tins 
worthy gentleman — it strikes me he's inclined to make the must of my 
deficiencies ; luckily they are not numerous— my failings only amount to 
— the first is. over-susceptibility as regards the fair sex — it's a terrible 
failing in a lawyer, but I can't help it; the moment a young lady casts a 
- glance at me — thus — (burlesque leer) and articulates my Christian 
name — Cymon — with the Cy — why. then it's all over with me ! I cease to 
be a solicitor, and straightway become & pyrotechnist, a Congreve rocket, 
:;. Catherine wheel,, a volcano ! Fault No. 2 is still less excusable in so 
nice a young man — I take snuff- — yes ! I blush to ov it, but the incessant 
tudy of ;i Blackstone's Commentaries' has rendered me as devoted a 
lover of brown rappee as the veriest Highlander that ever stood at a to- 
bacconist's door ! By the bye. now hat I'm alone, I'll just regale my- 
self with a pinch — a pinch at the light moment is so very refreshing. 
.duces snuff-box, and is luxuriously about to r"i~e a pinch to his nose, when 
De Walker enters at back, c.) Hallo here's the governor — I must con- 
ceal my petty vices ! (throws pinch of snuff aicay. and hurries box into his 
■ t.) 

De W. (sneezing — aside) Eh ! by George, that looked uncommonly like 
a snuff-box. My daughter abominates young snuff-takers. Now if I 
could only convict him of the habit, (advancing) Indulging in a quiet 
pinch — eh 1 

Mr. B. Pinch — eh 1 I — oh, dear no (coughing) my cough's rather 
troublesome, (coughing) Ahem ! ahem ! I was just taking a voice 
lozenge ! (produces box from his other pocket) Excellent things — have 
-me 1 

De W. No, thank you. (aside) Voice lozenges — humbug! I don't be- 
lieve a word of it! but I must conceal my hostile intentions beneath a 
mask of diplomatic politeness ! (assuming a bland expression) My dear 
Pimlico 

Mr. B. (sharply). Brompton, sir, Brompton ! 

De W. Ah, Brompton. to be sure — my dear Brompton, you cannot 
imagine how charmed, how delighted lam to see you beneath my roof, 
domesticated as it were among my household g da 

Mr. B. (looking at him suspU-iousiy. and cautiously repeating after him). 



38 AMATEUR AND "PARLOR THEATRICALS. 

My dear Mr. De Walker, you cannot imagine how charmed, how delight- 
ed I am to see myself beneath your roof, domesticated as it were among 
your household gods. 

De W. My sister has informed me of the object of your visit — T highly 
approve of it — there's my hand! 

Mr. B. (as before, cautiously). Your sister has informed you of lhe mo- 
tive of my visit, you highly approve to it — there's my hand. 

De W. (aside). Why the fellow's a human poll parrot ! (aloud) I admit 
that I was at first anything but favorably disposed towards you, 

Mr. B. Oh, you admit that, do you 1 

De W. Yes — they say you've been a sad fellow in your time. 

Mr. B. Now really, upon my life 

De W. (continuing). A very devil among the girls — eh ! you sly young 
dog you ! (gives him a poke in the ribs.) 

Mr. B. You really shouldn't De Walker, (aside) He's testing the ex' 
tent of my juvenile indiscretions, (aloud, with solemnity) Mr. de Walker, 
as I trust I am on the eve of becoming a member of your family, I con- 
sider it my duty to lay bare to you my inmost soul ! 

De W. That's right, my boy — no ceremony with me, you know. 
(aside, chuckling) Some delicious confession is at hand ! 

Mr. B. Throughout my entire career, I have loved two women! (walks 
up, looks all round room, behind window curtains, and under the table as though 
to see that no one is listening.) 

De W. Two women ! (anxiously) and they were 

Mr. B. (taking De Walker's arm, leading him down and speaking mys- 
teriously into his ear). My mother and my old nurse ! 

De W. (aside). Confound him, no go again ! Infernally sharp fellow this ! 
(aloud, affecting great cordiality) My dear young friend, I'm delighted to 
meet with a young man of so exemplary a character, (producing snuff- 
box) I'll be down upon him this time ! (.carelessly) I rather think you said 
you did a little in this way 1 

Mr. B. (forgetting himself and mechanically advancing his hand) Right ! 
(recollecting himself) What, snuff! Faugh ! I — I abominate the insane 
practice ! 

De W. (aside — vexed) Devilish wide-awake ! I'll try another tack. 
(with affected heartiness) Do you know. Hackney 

Mr. B. Brompton, sir, Brompton ! 

De W. Ah, Brompton — (blandly) do you know, Brompton, there's a- 
something about you which pleases me uncommonly (vaguely) there's an 
air of a — a — a — sort of — a kind of a — a — I don't exactly know what, that 
tells me, you're precisely the husband for my daughter — (significantly) 
for I must tell you that, with her peculiar character — 

Mr. B. Peculiar — not very peculiar I hope I 

De W. My dear young friend! I consider it my duty— my painful 
duty, to inform you that our darling Isabella has a few trifling defects^ 

Mr. B. (aside). A very transparent dodge this! 

De W. The little angel is self-willed — stubborn, violent, extravagant^ 
passionate, spiteful, and vindictive ! 

Mr. B. Precisely the qualities I have so long sought for in a young 
lady. 

De W. (astonished). Eh 1 

Mr. B. The exact combination of peculiarities I mostadmire! 

De W. Eh? Oh, then, of course — a — a — I — I've nothing more to say, 
(aside — angrily) I shall loose my temper with this fellow — he's up to 
everything ! 1 must retire and concoct some inevitable trap wherein tQ 
catch this juvenile Machiavelli. (aloud) My dear Fulham * - 

Mr. B. Brompton, my dear sir, Brompton! 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 39 

X)e W. Ah ! I knew it was somewhere out that way. Excuse my 
leaving you — I have a very particular letter to write, (walks vp.) 

Mr. B. Write away, don't mind me. 

De W. {coming back). I wonder now whether the fellow smokes — Isa- 
bella abominates tobacco — I'll just try. (turning round suddenly, pre- 
tending to fumble in his pocket) Dear, dear, how provoking! I ve left my 
case up stairs — you don't happen to have a cigar about you ! (Bromp- 
tox, taken off his guard, hastuy plunges his hand into his pocket — De 
Walker delighted, aside) Ha, ha! he carries a case — T knew it ! 

Mr. B. {suddenly perceiving the plant , deliberately draws forth his hand- 
kerchief, and calmly blows his nose). Cigar, did you say 1 I never indulge in 
such things ! 

De W. {aside, angrily). Confound the fellow ! I can't convict him of any 
fault whatever ! to think that the exigencies of society compel me to be- 
have politely to a puppy whom I yearn to send spinning out of my top- 
most garret window — but I'll be down upon him presently ! (with a vio- 
lent attempt at cordiality) Au revoir ! Paddington, au revoir ! 

[Exit at back , c. 

Mr. B. (calling after him, angrily), Bmmpton. sir, Brompton ! (alone) 
By Jove, that was a sharp hand to hand encounter ; luckily I've passed 
the ordeal victoriously. When he asked for a cigar I was very near pro- 
ducing my case, and when he proffered that tortoise-shell snuff-box, I 
was just within an ace of putting my foot in it ; a little of the " ti illating 
mixture" at the right moment is so very refreshing ! {looks round) The 
coast seems clear, I'll just try whether pinch No. 2 will safely reach its 
destination, (luxuriously helping himself to a pinch.) 

Enter Isabella with nosegay in her hand, l. 

Isabel, (speaking off). Yes, aunt, directly! 

Mr. B. (throwing away his pinch — vexed). Confound it ! I must give up 
all idea of u rappee" till the day after the wedding — {irritably) and then 
I'll take a quarter of a pound right off! {carefully scrapes snuff from car- 
pet with his foot, for fear Isabella should notice it.) 

Isabel, {placing nosegay in vase on table). Well, Mr. Brompton, you and 
pa seem to have had a long talk together. 

Mr. B. (still endeavoring to scrape away snuff). Oh, yes, a most inter- 
esting conversation — full of incidents ! 

Isabel, (eagerly). Has he said anything to you about going away 1 

Mr. B. Going away 1 no ! (alarmed) you surely don't anticipate — I — . 
I'm not without my faults, I know, but 

Isabel. Faults ! hush ! not a word about faults here, on the contrary 
if you have any, pray conceal them as carefully as possible. 

Mr. B. What ! even from you 1 

Isabel. Of course, I don't trouble you with mine ! 

Mr. B. That would be quite unnecessary ! your papa has favored me 
with a detailed list of them ; among the prominent items were stubborn- 
ness, extravgance, revenge and other Lucretia Borgia-like peculiarities ! 

Isabel. Now, that's too bad of pa, he's at his old tricks I see. (anx- 
iously) But you didn't believe him, did you, sir ? 

Mr. B. Believe him ! my dear Miss de Walker, I flatter myself I know 
how to distinguish a rosebud from a thristle ! 

Isabel. Oh, sir ! 

Mr. B. (aside, complacently). It strikes me they haven't read that in the 
" Gentleman's Magazine." {aloud, fervently) No! my dear Miss de Walker 
all that I believed, all that I will ever believe is that you are good, lovely, 
amiable, irresistible ! 



40 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 

Irabel. Oh, sir ! 

Mr. B. May I then indulge the fond hope, that if I obtain your father's 
consent I may venture a — a — to — a — a 

Isabel. I almost think you may — {eagerly) but on one condition, sir, 
you'll promise 

Mr. B. Proceed, proceed ! 

Isabel. Never to wear a cotton night-cap more! 

Mr. B. A cotton what 1 

Isabel. It's so very unromantic ! 

Mr. B. A cotton night- cap 7 

Isabel. Yes. they never wear them in novels. 

Mr. B. I solemnly swear 1 never perpetrated anything so unpoetical 
in all my life. 

Isabel. What 1 not with an interminable tassel % 

Mr. B. Neither with nor without anything of the kind. 

Isabel. Then it was a base invention of my father's, sir ! I have deep- 
ly wronged you, forgive me. Mr. Cymon 

Mr. B. Cymon! she called me Cymon! a distinct Cymon with the 
Cy — . Waterloo crackers are exploding in every vein ! (aloud, passionate- 
ly) Sylph-like being, admiration would be a cold expression with which 
to describe the sentiments that you have awakened in this breast, love, 
adoration ! no, they won't do either ; liquid lava, Greek fire are more the 
style of thing, {takes her hand, and kisses it several times.) 

Enter De Walker, at back, c. 

De W. {throwing tip his hands in astonishment). What do I behold — 
kissing my daughter's hand — {aside) a first-rate pretext ! Ill quarrel 
with him, and get rid of the fellow that way. (tragically) Base pettifog- 
ger ! is it thus you betray the laws of hospitality 1 {takes his daughter's 
arm and draws her away.} 

Mr. B. Base what ? 

De W. {to Isabella). What a shock it must have been to my Bella's 
feelings. 

Isabel. No, it wasn't, pa! 

Mr. B. Of course it wasn't ! why I was just going to pop. 

De W. You'll not pop here, sir — perfidious six-and-eight-pence. 

Mr. B. Six-and-eight-pence ! 

De W. Yes, sir, and let me take this opportunity of informing you 
that though she is too polite to say so, my daughter hates the very sight 
of you ! 

Isabel. Oh, my dear papa 

De W. There, you hear that — she says she detests you ! 

Mr. B. Shades of Littleton-upon-Coke, I can't stand this! 

De W. Not another word, sir ; I confess that I was strongly preposess- 
ed in your favor, but after such an outrageous violation of decorum — the 
sooner you pop out of my house, sir, the better, {aside) That's the style ! 

Mr B. Very good, sir, I will pop out of your house — I'll pop home 
again without further delay. 

De W. Pop, sir, pop ! 

Mr. B. I'll fetch my carpet-bag, and leave this ill-mannered locality 
instanter. (to Isabella sentimentally). Beauteous but too fleeting illusion, 
I bid thee farewell forever. [Exit Brompton, into room, r. 

De W. (aside, chuckling). Ha, ha ! I flatter myself I've settled his busi- 
ness for him ! 



AMATEUR A2sD PARLOR THEATRICALS. 41 



Enter Miss Euphemia, at back, c. 

Euph. Why, bless me, what is all this noise about 1 
Isabel. It's pa, who has just told Mr, Brompton to pop home again. 
Euph. Theophiius, what do I hear 1 What has the young man done 
to receive such treatment 1 

De W. I blush to repeat his offence before ladies — he has actual- 

ly — 

Euph. Actually what % 

De W. Actually dared to kiss Isabella's hand without gloves ! 

Euph. Pitiful subterfuge ! I tell you what it is, Theophiius — Mr. Bromp- 
ton and I will leave this house together ! {walks up.} 

De W. (alarmed). Euphemia ! 

Isabel. My dear aunt 

Euph. And as for my fortune ! I have half a mind to get married my- 
self. 

De W. What? 

Euph. Yes, (hysterically) and — and have a very large family! 

De W. You wouldn't be guilty of such a thing ! 

Eupii. You'll see, sir. Squire Merton has proposed to me twice already. 

De W. You wouldn't leave your own, dear Theophilly — philly 

Isabel. My dear aunt, for my sake 

Euph. If I relent, 'Lis on the express condition that ?>Ir. Brompton re- 
mains here, and that you make him a sweeping apology for the treatment 
he has received. 

De W. (starting and buttoning Ms coat violently), /make an apology ! 

Euph. Yes, sir, an immediate apology — see, here he comes ; now, sir, 
an apology, or I'll leave the house (rragicady) forever. 

He-enter Brompton, with carpet-bag. r. 

Mr. B. Ladies, your most obedient — Mr. De "Walker, (majestically) I 
wish you a very good morning ! 

De W. (stiffly). The same to yon, sir, and a— a — many of them. 

Euph. (to De Walker). Very well, sir ! (calling servant) Nancy, Nan- 
cy ! 

Isabel. Pa! you really ought 

De W. (aside). 1 shall choke with rage, I know I shall, (aloud) Mr. 
Brixton, a — a 

Mr. B. (bawling angrily). Brompton, sir, Brompton ! 

De W. Ah, Brompton, a — a — you don't mean to say you're going 
already, Brompton, why — (looking at his watch) the train isn't due for 
thirty-three minutes. 

Mr. B. Sir, there are situations in the life of man, when his dignity 
requires that he should wait — at the station ! 

De W r . You persist, then — (to Ladies) you see he persists — it would 
be the height of impoliteness in me to detain him. 

Euph. Indeed, sir ! (walking up) then, as I have already observed, this 
gentleman and I leave the house together. 

De W. (grinning with rage, but attempting to assume a blind manner). I 
shall choke, I know I shall, (aloud) Why. what a resolute, uncompromis- 
ing young fellow you are. Come come, now ! (coaxingly) won't you 
make up with papa Walker, eh \ 

Mr. B. You called me a pettifogger. 

De W. I was playful — I — I meant solicitor. 

Mb. B, You alluded to me as six-and-eight-pence. 



42 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 

De W. A harmless metaphor — a mere figure of speech — the idea of a 
man's being angry at being called six-and-eight-pence ; why the Queen 
might just as well be offended because we call her a sovereign — ha. ha, 
ha ! not bad, eh ? Come now, allow me — {takes carpet-bog from him, aside) 
I — I'll be down upon him presently, (puts carpet-bag near table.) 

Euph. Ah, there now, that's as it should be, and as an earnest of tin's 
happy reconcilation — (gushingly) I propose that, in our presence, Mr. 
Bromptoii shall bestow a chaste salute upon his future bride. 

Mr. B. An excellent idea. 

De W. Eh, eh ? what's that? (Bromptox hisses Isabella") Oh! (in 
his excessive rage De Walker hicks over a chair.) 

Euph. Why, brother, what are you doing? 

De W. Oh, nothing, nothing at all ! I — I'm enjoying this little family 
picture ! (aside) I only wish I was a mad dog for just two minutes ' 

Enter Nancy. 

Nancy. If you please, miss, breakfast is ready. 

Euph. Isabella, take Mr. Brompton's arm. 

Mr. B. (to Isabella, offering his arm). Miss de Walker, may I be per- 
mitted the transcendent felicity 

[Exeunt Bromptox and Bella into breakfast-room. 

Euph. (at door). Come, Theophilus. [Exit. 

De W. (aside). I — I'll be with you directly, (alone, angrily) This will 
never do ! I've met my match at last — I w T as one too many for all the 
rest, but if I don't mind, I shall find this fellow one too many for me ! he 
will marry Bella under my very nose, in spite of me i the Vandal, the Visi- 
goth, is gradually advancing upon my daughter like the barbarians of old 
upon the Roman empire, (ivalks to and fro) What's to be done? will no 
one smypathize with a bereaved parent ? 

Enter Nancy, l. 

Nancy. Please, sir, breakfast is a-getting cold. 

De W. Don't bother me about breakfast, (to Nancy, fiercely). What's 
to be done, I say, to arrest the progress of this seductive solicitor, this 
ruthless espouser ? 

Nancy. Law, sir, how should I know ? 

De W. (struck with a sudden idea). Stay ! a brilliant idea ! this girl is 
obtuse but good-looking, she shall be the instrument with which I'll ruin 
the fellow's reputation, (aloud) Nancy ! 

Nancy. What, sir ? 

De W. Do you perceive yonder Hun, yonder Ostrogoth, coolly enjoying 
his breakfast ? (pointing through open door, l.) 

Naxcy. What, young missis's young man? 

De W. How dare you allude to him in any such capacity! (emphatical- 
ly) Now mark me, Nancy — within half-an-hour from this, by hook or by 
crook, by fair means or by foul, you must prevail upon that young man 
to kiss you. 

Nancy. Kiss a gentleman ! ^shocked) Lawks, sir, you don't mean it ! 

De W. Mean it, girl ! I command, I ordain it ; there's a sovereign for 
you, and you shall have another as soon as the operation is over ! 

Nancy. P!ease, sir. I couldn't think of such a thing — I really couldn't ! 

De W. Consent immediately, or I give you warning on the spot ! 

Nancy, (taking sovereign). Well, I suppose if I must, I must, (going) 
Things is coming to a pretty pass, when respectable young female '©use- 
maids is obliged to kiss the young men visitors ! 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 43 

De W. A good loud one, mind. Hush ! retire! here comes my sister. 

Nancy (as she goes out). "N\ell, I never! master's a-goin 1 out oi his sen- 
ses; bat if the gentleman hadn't been so nice-looking I declare I'd never 
have done it, that I wouldn't ! [Exit l. 

Enter Euphemia, l. 

Euph. My dear Theophilus, what are you thinking of % the idea of 
leaving us all alone at breakfast with Mr. Brompton ! 

De W. (with serio-comic earnestness). Breakfast, I*ve had my breakfast, 
alas ! I have just made a discovery which will serve me for breakfast, 
dinner, tea, and supper, for the next week to come ! 

Euph. Theophilus, you terrify me. What has happened 1 

De W. (in a hollow voice). That precious portcge of yours is making love 
to our maid-servant Nancy, here, under our very nose ! 

Euph. Impossible ! 

De W. She has just confessed it herself. The vile Lothario gave her 
five shillings this morning for brushing his coat, and offered to stand 
half-a-sovereisn if she'd only tie his cravat for him ! 

Euph. Pshaw ! instances of pure good nature. 

De W. Good nature ! why he's kissing her in every corner of the house, 
is that good nature 1 

Euph. Theophilus ! give me but proof of this, and I abandon the de- 
cetiful young man forever. 

De W. Proof! (aside, looking of). Here he comes, closely followed up 
by Nancy, (aloud) Proof! I rather think you said proof; retire with me 
behind yonder door, and you shall have ample proof of his Don 
Juan-like behavior. Quick ! they come ! (exeunt at back, c, partially clos- 
ing the glass door, through which they are seen peeping.) 

Enter Bro'sitt ox followed by Nancy, l. 

Mr. B. (aside). Remarkably communicative hand-maiden this ! (aloud) 
And so you say, you. are tired of living down in the country ] 

Nancy. Yes, please, sir, I should like a place up in London much bet- 
ter ; I do so long to see London ! 

Mr. B. But what would your sweethearts down here say, if you were 
to-abandon them. 

Nancy. Sweethearts ! lawk, sir, (tattering) I ain't got no sweethearts. 

Mr. B. Nonsense, don't tell me, a pretty girl like you — (aside) Now I 
look at her she is an uncommonly pretty girl. 

Nancy. Besides I don't care about country-going sweethearts, I don't. 

Mr. B. A soul above bumpkins, I see. 

Nancy (playing with the corner of her apron). I should like a smart 
London lover, (giggling with affected shyness) He. he, he ! 

Mr B. (aside). Amazing confidential. So you'd prefer a metropolitan 
adorer, would you 1 

Nancy, (same play). Yes, like — like — (giggling and looking at Bromp- 
ton) He, he, he ! 

Mr. B. Like what < 

Nancy (with an affectedly stupid laugh) He, he, he ! Li-li-like you, 
sir. 

Mr. B. (aside, arranging Jus collar). The devil she would ! a — a — there's 
a great deal of discrimination about this girl. 

Nancy. You're just my style, you are, he, he, he ! (edges close up to 
Brompton as though inviting him to kiss her.) 

Mr. B. Oh, I am, ami] (aside) By Jove this rustic beauty is unmis- 



44 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 

takably captivated by my personal appearance. Ton ray life I almost 
wish it was Christmas time, and that there was a bit of misletoe handy ! 

Nancy {aside). He's a-going to take the hint, {lays her head against 
B rom ft on 1 S shoulder. ) 

Mr. B. {looking at Nancy). So I'm just your style, am 1 % {just at this 
moment the lock of door-is heard to turn — Brompton looks round and perceives 
De Walker's head looking though glass door) Aha ! the enemy is on the 
lookout. I see, this girl is a trap, a snare! 

Totally altering his manner, he gravely takes Nancy by the hand, and comes 
down with her. De Walker and Euphemia enter meanwhile cautiously 
at back on tip-toe, and listen intently. 

Most excellent young female 

Nancy {aside). It's a-oomin'. 

Mr. B. Did you ever read Susan Kopley ? 

Nancy. No, sir. 

Mr. B. {raising his voice, sententiously). Then permit me to inform you 
that maidenly reserve, and bashful modesty, are qualities which highly 
adorn a — a — a lady's maid ! 

Nancy. Sir ! 

Mr. B. The ancient Romans had such decided notions on this subject 
that they built a temple to the goddess Vesta. 

Nancy {aside). What the dickens is he talkin' about 1 

Mr. B. Among the Egyptians also, it was a saying, that a damsel 
without decorum, was like an artificial rose — the flower without its fra- 
grance. 

Euph. {rushing forward, enthusiastically) What exquisite sentiments, 
how beautiful ! how noble ! {rapturously) The flower without its fragance 
— how sweetly poetical! {to De Walker reproachfully) And this is the 
man you have dared to accuse, oh, brother, brother ! 

De W. {stammering). I — I — it was Nancy, {aside to Nancy) You little 
idiot, give me back my sovereign ! 

Nancy. No, sir, please, sir, it wasn't my fault, sir ! I told him he was 
just my style, {aside, going) I ain't a-goin' to give it back. [Exit l. 

De W. {aside, stamping with rage). The fellow bears a charm ! he is in- 
vulnerable. 

Euph. Oh, what a dear, good young man — just like Thaddeus of War- 
saw. 

Enter Isabella, l. 

{enthusiatically) Oh, Isabella, if you had only heard the charming senti- 
ments just uttered by Mr. Brompton. 

Isabel. On what subject? 

De W. {hysterically). A — a — the ancient Egyptians, and artificial flow- 
ers. Ha, ha! delightful ! pray favor us again; a second edition of the 
Egyptians by all means. 

Mr. B. With pleasure ! {sententiously) Among that truly sagacious peo- 
ple, there existed a most excellent practice 

De W. {sarcastically). How profound, how erudite ! 

Mr. B. Whenever a respectable young Egyptain asked a young Egyp- 
tian lady's hand in marriage 

De W. Eh ? 

Mr. B. {calmly). It was customary to name the day forthwith ! 

Euph. {eagoly). A very excellent practice too, and one which we 
shall do well to follow, {to her brother) What do you say to this day three 
months ? 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 45 

De W. Impossible! much loo soon, I haven't a dress-coat ready. 

Mr. B. I'll lend yon one. 

De W. No, no, I'll lix the time — the ceremony shall be performed next 
Monday three years ! 

Mr. B. Three years ! (violently) Three centuries ! 

Euph. Theophilus, mark me. 1 have already reminded you that I pos- 
a moderate income 

De W. I know — L know. 

Euph. {gushingly). That my persona, attractions are 

De VY. Above me iiocrity — I'm perfectly aware of it. 

Euph. (sentimentally). That like to the shipwiecked mariner 

De \V. (roaring furiously). Hang the shipwrecked mariner! 

Euph. Theophilus ! this marriage shall take place within three months, 
or I marry Squire Merton this day week ! 

De W. The devil ' no, no ! (aside) She evidently means it — I must 
give in; what a bore it is to have a sister with money, (aloud, effecting 
iness) Well, Stratford, my boy— — 

Mr. B. (sharply). Bompton, sir, Brompton ! 

De W. (effecting cordiality). Brompton. my dear boy, I sympathize 
with your impatience. 1 — 1 consent, at my sister's request, to reduce 
l he period to six months. 

Euph. Three, I said, three ! 

De W. Well then three, three, three! 

Mr. B. (shaki)ig De Walker's hand). Ah, that's more the style of 
thing ; I begin to believe you have some feeling about you; I will write 
at once to my friends informing them of the joyous tidings, (aside, going) 
lory, victory, the day is mine, (kisses Isabella's hand and exits r.) 

Isabel. Then am I really going to be married in good earnest ] Oh, 
nice ! I'll run and write all about it to my old school-fellow, 
ude. [Exit l., running. 

Euph. And I'll sit down and communicate the interesting intelligence 
to my worthy friend, Mistress Tabitha Tanbour. (sits down at table and 
writes.) 

De W. (sitting down dejectedly). It's all over, I'm a bereaved parent ! 
They've regularly builied me into it Odious visions of wedding break- 
- and post chaises and four rise up before me. (sorrowfully) No more 
charming little songs, no more " Home. Sweet Homes," with brilliant 
variations. I'm a childless father! {vehemently) But no ! shall I consent 
basely to be triumphed over by a youthful attorney, incipient pettifog- 
ger 1 {indignantly) Perish the thought, I'll conceive some colossal hoax, 
some mammoth dodge, that shall render the marriage impossible. Let 
me see now — ray sister Euphemia is credulity itself, she'll believe any- 
thing as long as it's romantic, sentimental, and extremely improbable! 
ng) Yes, Til straightway improvise a bit of fiction that shall eclipse 
the penny periodicals, and throw the Arabian Nights Entertainments 
completely into the shade! (aloud, solmeuly) Sister, a word with you. 

Euph. (rising^ surprised). What mournful tone is this ! (affectedly) It 
curdles my blood ? (X. B. — A burlesque tragedy air must be imparted to 
the whole of the following scene.) 

De W. Are we alone 1 

Euph. We are. 

De W. Quite alone 1 (holes cautiously all around the room and behind the 
curtains. ) 

Euph. Quite ! 

De W. (approaching his sister end si izing her by the hand). Are ycusure 
that this IToxton, Brixton, Brompton I mean, is Bompton] 

Euph. Why, my dear brother, who else should he be] 



46 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 

De W. I'll tell you ! {places, with much ceremony, chairs for himself and 
sister, they sit down) Have you a smelling bottle about you 1 

Euph. I have. 

De W. Then get it ready. 

Euph. I declare I'm sinking with terror. 

De W. The world believes I have only once been married, the world is 
wrong, twice have I led a blushing maiden to the altar ! 

Euph. What do I hear ? 

De W. You remember, w T hen a young man, I spent three years in 
Wales. 

Euph. You did, you did. 

De W. Amid the mountain passes of that picturesque land, I became 
acquainted with a beauteous milkmaid ; youth is impetuous, youth is 
rash, I loved and married her. 

Euph. Married a milkmaid ! Oh, goodness gracious ! {applies smelling 
bottle.) 

De W. Sainted Jenny ap Morgan Jones ! {handkerchief to his eyes.) 

Euph. Proceed, I entreat. 

De W. Scarcely had our secret union endured two years when my 
angel wife fell headlong over a rugged precipice, leaving me the widowed 
proprietor of a little Welshman, {sobbing) the very picture of his father. 

Euph. {drying her eyes). Luckless orphan ! {crying.) 

De W. {aside j much relieved). She has actually swallowed the little 
Welshman. 

Euph. What became of him ! 

De W. {aside). Let me see, what the devil became of him 1 {aloud, in 
broken accents) Scarce had my darling son attained his fourth year, when 
intelligence reached me that while playing at marbles in front of the farm- 
house of Llan — Llan — Llandilodoodlums, he was stolen by a — a — band 
of gipsies. 

Euph. {whimpering). Poor little dear ! Just like the Bohemian Girl ! 
{pathetically) Unhappy brother, and have you never seen your offspring 
more ? 

De W. (in a hoarse whisper). Never, until to-day ! 

Euph. To-day'? Howl When? Where? 

De W. (mock tragedy). Here ! not three minutes ago ! The voice of 
Nature, aided — a — a. — by an invisible, though unmistakable mark on his 
little finger, led to recognizing in the so-called Cymon Brompton (with a 
burst of mock pathos) my long-lost son ! 

Euph. (hysterically). He! the — the little Welshman ! Oh, goodness 
gracious ! {failing into a chair andgomg off almost into hysterics.) 

De W. (aside). Striking incident that, rather. I was afraid it might 
prove too much for her. (aloud, tragically turni / to his sister) Now do 
you appreciate my motives for opposing this marriage 1 

Euph. (overcome). I do indeed ! (tragicaly) Unhappy Bella, ill-fated 
youth. 

De W. Hush ! he must never know the secret of his birth. I need not 
tell you that an insurmountable barrier prevents me from ever pressing 
my son, the little Welshman, to this paternal bosom. 

Euph. (sentimentally). Heart-rendering situation ! Truth is indeed 
" stanger that fiction." 

De W. It is — it is, much stranger ! (mock tragedy) Swear never to re- 
veal the mystery I have confided to you ! 

Euph. (holding forth her hand). I swear ! 

De W. Hush ! he comes, (pathetically) The little Welshman comes ) 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 47 



Enter Bromptox gayly^ R. 

Mr. B. Aha. my dear Mr. de Walker, I've finished ray letter. 

De XV. (aside). You'll have a postscript to add presently, (aloud, patheU 
kally) Your hand, rays — , my friend, I mean — your hand! (pressing 
JJrompton's hand with affected emotion) Thanks, thanks ! 

Euph (aside sympathetically). His paternal emotion will betray him. 

Mil B. (aside, puzzled). Why, what's he up to now 1 

De W. Excellent young man, my sister has a — a — a little communica- 
tion to make to you. 

Mr. B. To me '] 

Euph. (aside, looking from De Walker to Brompton) There is a re- 
semblance, (aloud) Ill-starred youth, heaven knows your union with my 
niece was my dearest wish ; but 

Mr. B. Why, what's the matter now 1 

Eltpii. Fate has decreed it otherwise — this marriage is impossible! 

De W. Oat of the question. 

Mr. B. The devil it is ! 

Euph. Young man, adieu ! 

De W. Farewell — forever ! 

Mr. B. E.i ? 

De W. I — I — I wish you many happy returns of die day — No ! I — I 
mean I wish you a very good morning, (going.) 

Mr. B. (who has stood m utter bewilderment, hastily following De Walker). 
Gently — gently — one moment if you please ! When an accepted suitor is 
bundled out in this unceremonious manner, it's the fashion to tell him 
tiie reason. 

Euph. (turning away). Ask my brother. 

Mr. B. (to De Walker). Oblige me by 

De W. (turning away). Ask my sister ! 

Mr. B. Madam, I entreat 

Euph. Question me not ! 

Mr B. (bursting into a furious -passion). I'll no x, oe made a shuttlecock 
of in this way ! (roaring) I insist upon an explanation, or — (seizing De 
Walker angrily by the collar) or I'll know the reason why! 

Euph. (tragically, stepping between them). Hold wretched young man — 
(with tremendous emphasis) would you strike ypjir father ? (tableau.) 

Mr. B. My father! 

De W. (awfully embarrassed) I — I — I rather think somebody's calling 
me. (endeavors to meakoff.) 

Mu. B. (detaining him). Why what fresh piece of humbug is this? 

Euph. (to Bromptox). Do you remember the farm of Landilodoo- 
dlums and the hand of gipsies 1 

Mr. B. Gipsies! (aside) By Jove, he's been at it again! I'll see how 
far he'll carry this joke. There's a portrait on the lid of lozenge box — 
(produces it) Til pretend to humor the notion, (affects to gaze with emotion 
on HI of box — pathetically) Yenerable parent ! Do you recognize those fea- 
tures ? 

De W. (aside). What does he mean 1 (stammering violently but still affect- 
ing (motion) Yes. ye.,! sainted Jenny ap Morgan Jones, these were thy 
lineaments ! 

Mr. B. Why, you prince of humbugs, that's Jenny Lind ! 

Euph. Jenny Liud ! 

De W. (incoherently). A — a — it strikes me — a— a — there's a slight mis- 
t ike — a — a — somewhere ! 

Euph. Is it possible I Another subterfuge ! Theophilus, I'm ashamed 



43 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 

of you, sir, and of myself too for believing such absurdities. You 
naughty — naughty — naughty man you ! (p\ ily.) 

De W. {roaring). 0-o-o-oh ! {hysterically) A joke — a mere joke. 

1 iter Isabella and Nancy, l. 

Isabel. Why, what's the matter with papa ? 

De W. Oh. nothing — nothing — a mere juke ! (aside) My mammoth 
dodge has failed — my inventive powers aie utterly exhausted — I must 
temporize ! (aloud) Ha ! ha ! ha ! don't you see it was an ingenious rose 
to test the sincerity of our young friend's affection. Fate seems to have 
decreed that she should become Mrs. Daiston. 

Mr. B. Brompton. sir, if you please. 

De W. Ah. I knew it was some suburb. Rut I say, Brompton. out of 
sympathy to the feelings of a bereaved parent. you'L allow me to spend 
nine months out of the twelve with you 1 

Mr. B. Twelve m< you i!ke — you'll only have to 

step round the corner ! 

De W. Round the comer 1 

Mr. B. Yes, my father has bought me a solicitor's business in this very 
town. 

De W. In Lhis very town! Then why the devil didn't you say so be- 
fore % By Jove, here have I been doing my very utmost to get rid i f 
the very suitor I'd have given worlds ~o find. Here! {join /ids) 

take her, my boy. The wedding shall come off this day month — no, this 
day week ! 

All. (\ - ful ! 

Naxcy. Miss Bella is goin' to be married in right down earnest — well 
I never ! 

De W. (j . Round the corner ! (asidt ) I must 

make sure of this excellent young man. (aloud) A — a — what do you 
to to-morrow niornii 

Mr. B. [surprised). Eh 1 

De. W. i \side). I — I shall never have such another chance, (exulting- 
ig) Round the corner, (aloud) Couldn't the ceremony take place this after- 
noon ) 

Mr. B. I — I haven't a white waistcoat! 

De W. I'll lend you one 1 

Euph. Theophilus, you're too precipitate — we'll fix the date after 
dinner. 

De W. Very well, {turning to Nancy) Nancy, we'll dine early! 

y. Very good, sir ! (approaching De Walker) I hope it's all 
right about that 'ere sovereign, sir ] 

De W. Sovereign ! I promised you a sovereign if you succeeded. 
(emphatically) You shall have five pounds tor failing ! 

Nawct. Five pounds ! I must be a dreaming ! (walks up.) 

De W. (cxultingly). Round the corner, how delightful! However, it* 
lucky it has turned out as it has. for I clearly see (to < at when 

a certain young man has made up his mind to marry a certain young 
woman, and that certain young woman has also made up her mind to 
have that certain young man. whoever attempts to thwart them will find 
that they are 

Isabel. } 
and { (taking De Walkeb n). Oxe too maxy for him 1 

Mr. B.) 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 49 



SYNOPSIS. 

In a pleasant parlor in a country house, Nancy, a pert housemaid, engaged in 
brushing a coat, lightens her arduous labor by commenting upon her master, Mr. 
Theophilus De Walker's, peculiarities, and is interrupted by that gentleman's 
entrance. He asks, in a peevish manner, what the new arrival, Mr. Brompton, is 
like. Nancy tells him she doesn't Know, and leaves the room. Mr. De "Walker 
launches out into a fierce invective against the young fellows who come courting his 
darling daughter, Isabella, and proceeds, in a humorous soliloquy, to tell his 
daughter's history from her babyhood up ; and expressing his firm determination 
not to part with her to the youth who has arrived at his house. Isabella enters, 
and expresses her delight that Mr. Brompton has come, t; i'or he is such a nice 
young man." While they are conversing, Miss Euphemia, De Walker's sister, 
enters ; she is got up in juvenile style, and speaks in a romantic manner. She tells 
De Walker that Buompton is her choice for Isabella, and as she has a fortune to 
leave, she will have her say in the matter. When Brompton comes on, he alarms 
De Walker by his suave and dashing style, and greatly pleases the ladies. The 
old gentleman contrives to prevent the young one having a chance to be alone with 
Isabella, and they all leave him to himself. He is on the verge of taking a pinch 
of snuff as De Walker returns. Isabella hates snuff-taking, and her father tries 
to get proof that Brompton '' snuffs," but is " headed off " every time, and likewise 
fails to catch him with the weed. This whole scene is alarmingly funny. The old 
gentleman goes off, completely <; bluffed," when Brompton is about to take a pinch 
as Isabella enters ; he conceals his snuff, and soon makes himself so agreable to 
Isabella, that he is about to propose, having seized her hand with that intention. 
The father enters, and orders him to leave the house. Brompton prepares to obey. 
But Euphemia intervenes, and says if he goes that she will accompany him. Da 
Walker gives a reluctant consent to the match, but determines to prevent it, and 
for this purpose gives Nancy a sovereign, conditionally that she gets Brompton to 
kiss her. But the young lover fails to fall into this snare ; in fact, he comes out of 
the furnace like fine gold. At last De Walker concocts and tells Euphemia a story 
to the effect that Brompton is his own son — hence his reason for preventing the 
marriage, and the lady tells Brompton u it can never be." The youth enraged at 
this trifling, collars De Walker, as Euphemia screeches out, "Would you strike 
your father /" An amusing scene ensues, and Isabella and Nancy entering, Dk 
Walker admits that Brompton is ' One too Many for Him," and consents to the 
union of the young couple. 



STAGE DIRECTIOXS. 

E. means Right of Stage, facing the Aduience ; L. Left; C. Centre ; 11. C. Right 
of Centre ; L. C. Left of Centre. D F. Door in the Fiat, or Scene running across 
the back of the Stage ; C. D. F. Centre Door in the Flat ; B. D. F. Right Door m 
the Flat ; L. D. F. Left Door in the Flat ; R. D. Right Door ; L. D. Left Door ; 1 E. 
First Entrance ; 2 E. Second Entrance ; U. E. Upper Entrance; 1, 2 or 3 (J. First, 
Second or Third Grooves. 
R. R. C C. L. C. £u 

KS* The reader is supposed to be upon the stage, facing the audience. 



50 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



OAST OF CHABACTEES. 

Royal Olympic 'ilieatre, 
London, Feb. 10th, 1868. 

Mr. Theophilus De Walker, a " too fond parent," Mr. Chabl.es Mathews. 

Mr. Cymon Brompton, an " impetuous " bachelor Mr. Ashley. 

Miss Euphemia De Walker, a romantically inclined spin- 
ster Mrs. Caulfield. 

Isabella, a young lady with " no objection to get married,". Miss Schavey. 
Nancy, a housemaid with an " independent spirit," Miss E. Farren. 



TIME— THE PRESENT DAY. 
TIME OF PERFORMANCE-FIFTY MINUTES. 



COSTUMES. 

De Walker. — Frock coat, double-brested' waistcoat, dark pants, greyish wig, black 

moustache (distingue make-up.) 
Brompton.— Fashionable morning costume 

Euphemia.— Affected and " would-be juvenile " make-up, silk dress, &c, &c. 
Isabella. — White muslin dress, &c, &c. 
Nancy.— Smart maid-servant's make-up. 



Properties. — Writing materials, two snuff-boxes, box of lozenges, carpet-bag. 



SCENERY. 

Scene.— A comfortably furnished parlor in a country house.— At back, glass-door 

(with windows extending half way down), through which a conservatory is seen. 

| Glass door. | 



* Chairs. 



\ Table ' 



Door. 



Table with 
wri'g mat'ls 



Chairs, -# 



Door. 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 51 



THE THESPIAN SPEAKER, 



A WORDY COMBAT. 

From diaries Dance's Comedietta of " A Morning' Call." 
CHARACTERS. 

Sir Edward Ardent, a Country Gentleman. 
Mrs. Chillingtone. a Young Widow. 

Time and Place — England at the present dag. 

Scene. — A v oil -furnished Drew; ing-room ivith two doors ; a fire-place ; 
a work-table near the fire ivith a bell and all materials for work ; 
a coal scuttle with coals near the entrance door. 

[This is a very sprightly scene from an excellent petite comedy. Mrs. Chil- 
lingtone is seated in her drawing-room at her work-table, on which she has 
deposited her work, to peruse an epistle, just received from a female friend 
stopping with o. gay party at a neighbor's house, congregated to enjoy the 
Christmas festivities. The communication .varus her that a heavy wager 
had been laid among a party of gentlemen that Sir Edward Ardent, " a fas- 
cinating fellow,'' would woo and win the widow r within a week, notwithstand- 
ing her resolution never to marry again.] 

Mrs. Chillingtone. So, my gentleman, I am to surrender in 
less than a week, am I \ the fortress must be badly defended in- 
deed, that can't hold out for that time It isn't worth thinking of, 
and I don't care a pin about it ; but the man's impudence is almost 
provoking, and little as it signifies, I declare I can hardly help 
wishing thai this renowned general would commence his attack, 
that I may silence his batteries and send him about bis business. 
{shivering) Ugh! how cold it is, a little bit of a skirmish might 
warm one, for positively the fire won't, [rings the belt, and pokes (he 
Jire. 

Enter Sir Edward Ardent. 

Sir Edward ^aside). The snow puts an extinguisher on our 



52 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



hunting to-day, and some amusement I must have, so I have come 
to try if I can win the widow, and my bet. (she rings a second time) 
She rings again— what does she want, I wonder ? 

Mrs. C. Coals. 

Sir E. Ma'am 1 

Mrs. C. Coals. 

Sir E. Coals 1 

Mrs. 0. (looking up). Dear me, Sir Edward Ardent, I declare, 1 
beg your pardon, I took you for my servant. 

Sir E. Would that you would keep me for your servant ! 

Mrs. C. What wages do you ask? 

Sir E. I'll serve you for love. 

Mrs. C. You'll never get paid. 

Sir E. Engage me, and I'll take my chance. 

Mrs. C. You have great confidence. 

Sir E. Not too much. 

Mrs. C. Yes, you have — in yourself, 1 mean. 

Sir E. Never mind, engage me ? 

Mrs. C. I've heard a bad character of yon from your last place, 

Sir E. Indeed ! from whom ? 

Mrs C. From your mistress, to be sure. 

Sir E. What mistress 1 

Mrs. C. Have you so many 1 

Sir E. None ! but I seek one, and that one 

Mrs. C. Will have a remarkably troublesome servant. 

Sir E. Well, if I am not to finish a sentence — — 

Mrs. C. My very good friend, when you are talking with a lady, 
think yourself remarkably well off if you are allowed to begin a 
sentence. 

Sir E. I am quite aware that ladies 

Mrs. C. Are very unreasonable on that subject— generally 
speaking, they are — I am an exception. You wish to say some- 
thing 1 

Sir E. T do — something very 

Mrs. C. Stop a minute — you shall have every chance — sit down 
and warm yourself, while I work, (he sits) When you feel inclined 
to speak — speak, and I won't interrupt you. 

Sir E. (rises). 1 cannot sit — I am too agitated, (paces the stage.) 

Mrs C. Well, whatever you do, don't wa.k about, for that is 
unbearable. 

Sir. E. I don't know what to do. 

Mrs. C. Poor man ! then I'll tell you — fetch the scuttle and put 
on some coals. 

Sir E. Hadn't I better ring for your servant ? 

Mrs. C. Certainly not ! when I rung for him you answered the 
bell, and not only that, but you applied for the place. 

Sir E. He is shaking the snow off my coat. 

Mrs. C. An additional reason for your doing his work, and so 



AMATEUR AXD PARLOR THEATRICALS. 53 



let me see how well you can do it. (he fetches the scuttle, ivhich 7a 
carries with both kanas) Very well, very well — upon my word I think 
you have been in service before ; there, don't spill them, or I shall 
have to send ycu about your business. 

Sir E (stopping). Mrs. Chillingtone, listen to me, I am serious— 

Mrs. C. Not with the coal-scuttle in your hand surely. 

Sir E. It is very oard that you will turn every thing I say into 
ridicule ; however, in the hope that artificial warmth may thaw 
the natural icinoss ol* your disposition, I will make up the fire be^ 
fore T unburthen my mind. 

Mrs. C. Stop I I have had hundreds of serious speeches made to 
me, but it just occurs to me that 1 never heard one from a man 
with a scuttle full of coals. Spea '-'i just as vou are, scuttle and 
all. 

Sir E. No ' indeed, I shall not. 

Mrs. C. Now, do. pray; you can't think how well you look. 

Sir E. You must excuse me. I certainly cannot see why a man 
who feels earnestly should not express himself earnestly at any 
moment ; neither do I see that the ebullition of a genuine feeling 
is rendered less worthy of attention by the accidental circumstance 
of his having a coal-scuttle in his hand ; but {throwing some crate mi) 
you have chosen to point attention to the fact, and possibly {throw- 
ing more) there map be some degree of ridicule attached to it. 
Therefore, although I burn to speak, (he looks at her, she is looking 
another wag) I say, Mrs. Chillingtone, although I burn to speak — 
(throwing all that remains on.) 

Mrs. C. Don't smother the fire on any account. 

Sir. E. (jutting down the scuttle, and pacing the stage — aside). Her 
cool indifference is past belief. I m not. used to being treated in 
such a way by a woman, and yet there are moments when I fancy 
that she is listening more than she pretends to be. 

Mrs. C. Are you speaking to me, Sir Edward? because I don't 
hear one word you say. 

Sir E. I was talking to myself. 

Mrs. C. And there is no better way of ensuring an attentive 
listener. 

Sir E Thank you. madam. 

Mrs, C. (rising and coming forward). You and I have ^nowi one 
another a longtime; why say "Madam!" It sounds very for- 
mal. 

Sir E. Does it, does it 1 (aside). She thaws — by Jupiter, she 
thaws! (aloud, and earnestly). Does it? 

Mrr C. Does it, does it, does it1 Why, yes, it does — and what 
then ; 

Sik E. (aside). Down to the freezing point again. I'll pretend 
to go, and try what that will do. 

Mrs. C. I haven't had the speech vet ; when are you going to be- 
gin 1 



S4 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS, 



Sir E Some other t"me : I think I hear a carriage, (going.) 

Mrs. C. I hear none, but if any body should call, I can say 
l£ not at home." 

Sir E. [aside). Oh, ho, my lady ! {returning) Well, since you wil) 
eay " not at home " - ■ 

Mrs. C. 1 didn't say I would— I only said 1 could. 

Sir E. Mrs. Chillingtone. good morning, [going.) 

Mrs. C. Nonsense 1 stay where you are, you restless man. 

Sir E. You're very kind, but i must go. (goes to door, which he 
wens and holds in hand, standing half -in and half -out.) 
* Mrs. C. Where to 1 

Sir E. I don't know ; but good-bye. 

Mrs. C. Till when, then 1 

Sir E. [aside). She says " till when 1 " It's my private opinion 
she wishes me to stay. 

Mrs. C. Till when I 

Sir E. Till to-morrow, [aside) One day's absence will bring her 
to her senses, [going.) 

Mrs. C. Not to-morrow, you cruel man. 

Sir E. {shutting door and returning). Ah ! you wish me not to go 
to-day. 

Mrs. C. 1 don't wish you not to go to-day— I only wish you not 
to come to-morrow. 

Sir E. Shall you be out 1 

Mrs. C No, 1 shall be at home ; but I shan't want you. 

Sir E. {aside). It's nothing to me; but as sure as fate, there's a 
man in the case— its nothing to me, I say, but I don't like it. 
{aloud) " You shan't want me," Mrs. Chillingtone — u you shan't 
want me % " that is, don't misunderstand me, I don't mean to say 
it's likely you would want me, but when you say you don't want 
me, it seems as much as to say you don't wish for me ; of course, 
I don't mean to say it's likely you would wish for me, but when 
you say, or if you say, you don't wish for me, it's almost as much 
as to say that you wish me away ; I say almost, 1 don't say quite. 

Mrs. C. But ! do ; you have been a long time arriving at a con- 
clusion, but the curious part of the business is that you have ar- 
rived at the right one. 

Sir E. After such a declaration, it would be folly in me to say 
another word. 

Mrs. C. A declaration 1 good gracious ! Who has made a decla- 
ration ? I heard none. 

Sir E. This is trifling ; I say it would be folly in me to say an- 
other word. 

Mrs 0. So it would, so it would ; but you'll say it for alt that. 

Sir E. Well, I believe I shall, in fact, I must; I have a question 
to ask you — a question, my dear Mrs. Chillingtone, to which I must 
entreat your most serious attention, (she ivalks gently off to her own 
room) 1 will not add to your embarrassment by even looking at you 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICAL? D'5 



while you answer it, contenting myself with merely begging that 
your answer may be a candid one. {listens) Yes, cost what it may, 
a candid one. (listens again) I pause for your assurance that it shall 
be a candid one. (aside) She hesitates — she's lost. 

Mrs. C. [calling from within). Are you gone, Sir Edward ? 

Sir E. Gone, Mrs. Chillingtone I gone 1 Why, you are gone. 

Mrs. C. (re-entering). Only for a moment I went for my thimble. 

Sir E. Went for your thimble ! {aside) Women have always an 
excuse at the tips of their fingers, (aloud) Only for a moment ! 
Don't you know what Mrs. Haller says? " There are moments in 
which we live years " 

Mrs. C. I must beg, Sir Edward, that you won't quote Mrs. Hal- 
ler to me. 1 never associate with ladies of that description. 

Sir E. (aside). This is put on — she must be shamming, for she 
couldn't know that [ was— how deceitful women are! but I will 
go new. (going to door) I positively will go. {opens door, then stops — 
aloud) Surely you heard my question. 

Mrs. C. Well, I fancied i heard you mumbling something. 

Sir E. Mumbling! [aside) W 7 ell, well, I'll bear it all — my turn 
must come, (aloud) I asked you why you wished me away ? 

Mrs. C. What ! to-morrow ? 

Sir E. Yes. 

Mrs. C. Oh ! because I expect somebody else. 

Sir E. A man ? 

Mrs. C. Ah, that's the worst of it ! 
' Sir E. A husband, perhaps ? 

Mrs. C. No, a simple man. 

Sir. E. The more simple, the more likely to become a husband. 

Mrs. C. That is the most natural thing you have said vet. 

Sir E. Why so ? 

Mrs. C. It's so rude. 

Sir E. I didn't mean to be rude ; make allowance for my feel- 
ings — I feared it was a husband. 

Mrs. C. You need not have feared it. When you asked if it 
was a man that I expected, I said " that's the worst of it." I 
could not have said that, if it had been a husband. 

Sir E. Now, who is rude? but I care nothing for rudeness — I 
derive warmth and comfort from the openness of that assurance. 

Mrs. C. (imaiing Jus tone). And I derive neither warmth nor com- 
fort from the openness of that door ! so I wish you would shut it. 

Sir E. Oh, Mrs. Chillingtone, you are too cold. 

Mrs. C. I told you so. 

Sir E. [going towards door). Be content; I am about to shut it 
once and forever. 

Mrs. C. And when you have shut it, on which side of it do you 
propose to remain I 

Sir E. Has the lovely Mrs. Chillingtone a choice on the subject? 

Mrs. C. The lovely Mis. Chillingtone has no choice upon the 



5fi AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS 



eubject — but the lovely Mrs. Chillingfcone, like the rest of her too 
fascinating sex, has considerable curiosity.. 

Sir E. Your wish shall be gratified — I remain on this side. 
(comes in, having shut the door. ) 

Mrs. C. I excuse the impertinence of that speech for the sake 
of its amusing vanity. 

Sir E. (aside). I'll let her go on — I'll let her go on— there will 
come a day of reckoning. 

Mrs. C. Well, sir? 

Sir E. Well, ma'am ! 

Mrs. C. Oh, nonsense! you mustn't repeat my words — you must 
say something ; suppose this were a play, you couldn't come into 
a room where a lady was, shut the door, and not speak 

Sir E. Perhaps you will be good enough to furnish the plot of 
the play. 

Mrs. C. I fancy it would be more in my way to act it ; however, 
I'll try my hand. 1 must begin, I believe, with the stage direc- 
tions. 

Sir E. If you please. 

Mrs. C. Well — " The stage represents a drawing-room in Mrs. 
Chilling tone's country house— a large party are assembled at an- 
other country house, a few miles off." 

Sir E. What, on the stage ? 

Mrs. C. No, no ! that is only for your information, to help you 
what to say ; now, don't interrupt me, and don't speak till I tell 
you. " Mrs. C. has been strongly pressed to join the party at her 
neighbor's house ; but, knowing herself to be rather an attractive 
person, and knowing that men, always more or less silly about 
women, think it behooves them to make especial donkeys of them- 
selves when on a visit to a country house, she has declined. One 
of the gentlemen " 

Sir E. Donkeys ! 

Mrs. C. " Sir Edward Ardent, by name " — (I told you not to 
interrupt me, and you see what you have got by it) — " thinks pro- 
per to ride over to Mrs. Chillingtone's under pretence of a ' morn- 
ing call,' although it is very evident to her that he has some ob- 
ject larking behind." 

Sir E How does she know that? 

Mrs. C. I'm writing a play, and I'm not bound to tell more than 
I like. 

Sir E. But 1 have to speak presently, and I want information. 

Mrs C. You shall have more than you want. " Sir Edward, 
like hundreds of other moderately good-looking men, has been 
humored by sundry weak women until he fancies himself irresis- 
tible." 

Sir E. (aside). He may prove so yet. 

Mrs. 0. " And, taking advantage of a previous acquaintance 
with Mrs. C. to deprive her of her privilege of saying ' not at 



THEATRICALS. 57 



home,' he breaks through the ordinary rules of society — enters 
— her room without being announced — and " 

Sir E. Stay ! I can explain all. 

Mrs. C. Can you 1 that is just what I want ; hut don't be in a 
hurry — pull that couch this way. (he palls a couch to the centre of the 
stage) '- Mrs. Chillingtone, though astonished at his coolness, takes 
her seat on one side of the couch (she s ts) and motions Sir Edward 
to occupy the other.' 3 {he prepares to do so— when he is nearly seated, 
Mrs. C. puts her hand under his arm and causes him to rise again) " He 
has almost done so when he suddenly recollects that lie has omit- 
ted to bow on accepting the invitation. '' {he bows t> her) '•' Having 
supplied the omission, lie takes his seat, and Mrs. Chillingtone 
waits patiently for the promised explanation of his extraordinary 
conduct/' 

Sir E. I can give it in five words. 

Mrs. C. Not less \ 

Sir E. Yes, in three — " I love you ! " 

Mrs. C. Stay a minute — let me clearly understand. Are you 
carrying on the little drama I began, or are you Sir Edward Ar- 
dent, Bart., in your own proper person, addressing yourself to me 
— Fanny Chillingtone, widow \ 

Sir E. T hope you don't take me for an actor. 

Mrs. C. Well, in love affairs, there is not much difference be- 
tween a man on and a man off the stage — one is a professional 
actor, and the other an actor of professions. 

Sir E You think, then, that the truth has no part in love affairs 

Mrs C. Oh, yea it has, I wish it hadn't. 

Bib E. Why so 1 

Mrs. C. Because it always comes too late. 

Sir E. Always ? 

Mrs C. I speak from my own experience. 

Sir E. You have never tried but once. 

Mrs. C And have no inclination to try again. 

Sir E. You think all men alike, then? 

Mrs. C. Yes, in their disposition to deceive women. 

Sir B. May there not be one exception ] 

Mrs. C. There may ; but it must be a golden one 

Sir E Come. I have gained a step at last — you admit there may 
be one exception — 1 crust before the week is out to prove myself 
that one 

.Mrs C. A week 1 that is a very short time. 

Sir E. If I fail to convince you of my sincerity in a week 

Mrs C. You'll own yourself beaten — and pay 

Sir E. {rising). Mrs. Chillingtone! 

Mrs. C. Sit down, Sir Edward — and pay your court to some one 
else. 

Sir E. (aside). What a fool I am, I had nearly betrayed myself! 
{aloud) Where faiiure would be death, 1 will think of nothing but 
success. 



58 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS, 



Mrs. C. What a charming speech ! many men have offered to 
live for me, and I have refused them— you propose to die for me — 
now if I thought I could depend upon you 

Sir E {aside). Confound your impudence ! but I'll be even with 
you yet. {aloud) You may — indeed, you may. 

Mrs. C. As you have allowed yourself so short a time for your 
conquest — hadn't you better begin 1 

Sir E. If you please. I confess, and, indeed, I think you must 
feel, that I start under some disadvantage. I have proclaimed 
that I love you — I have played out, as it were, my thirteenth 
trump, and am now dependent upon you to bring in my strong 
suit. 

Mrs. C. Your position is even more awkward than you think — 
if I play your cards as well as my own, you must be " dumby." 

Sir E. Play' them on any terms, I am content — it makes us 
partners. 

Mrs. C. Was ever knave more civil to a queen ? But look you, 
Sir Knave, a husband who must not open his mouth-: 

Sir E. Can never contradict his wife. 

Mrs. C. True ! but a wife who is compelled to talk for two 

Sir E. Is confirmed, without a struggle, in her sex's dearest 
privilege. 

Mrs. G. {aside). I could almost like him for his impertinence. 

Sir E. {after a pause). I'd give the world to know your thoughts. 

Mrs. C. You shall know them for nothing ; I was thinking which 
I should prefer — a deaf husband or a dumb one. 

Sir E If you allude to me 

Mrs But I do not. 

Sir E. I only said " if." If you allude to me, I will be dumb, 
not deaf. 

Mrs. C. Why not deaf ? 

Sir E. I could not bear to see you speak, and thirst to hear the 
liquid music of your voice. 

Mrs. C. It's very kind of you to think me so charming, and I 
dare say you're quite right ; but if you were dumb you couldn't 
tell me so. 

Sir E. What matter 1 I could find other means to make you 
know it — I could lie at your feet the live-long day, like a pet dog, 
with happy eyes to see you, with greedy ears to hear you, and ex- 
press, by mute devotion, that deep affection which, at last, no 
tongue, however eloquent, could tell. 

Mrs C. {aside). Hang the fellow ! how pleasant he talks ! 

Sir E. {aside). She's touched. 

Mrs. C. There is only one thing I fear, Sir Edward. 

Sir E. {earnestly). Say what it is % It ceases with the utterance. 

Mrs. C. If you were to become my pet dog 

Sir E. Yes ? 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 59 



Mrs. C. Fm afraid you would expect me to wash and comb you 
every day. (laughs at him, rises, and walks about.) 

Sir E. (rising, and paces the stage). Really, Mrs. Chillingtone — 
this indifference— I wish you wouldn't laugh — this indifference — 
now, pray don't laugh — this indifference to one who — oh. well, if 
you are determined to laugh, it's useless to attempt opening one's 
mouth. 

M ;ts. C. There, there, T won't laugh any more, [sits down) I am 
dumb and will only express by mute devotion, that (what is it? 
oh!) that deep affection which no tongue, however eloquent, can 
tell. 

Sir E. I should be sorry. Mrs. Chillingtone. to charge you with 
affectation, but this indifference is unnatural, it is unworthy of 
your sex. and. allow rae to add, unlike your sex. {aside) I'll try if I 
can make her jealous; (aloud) for 1 don't hesitate to tell you that 
it has been my fate to make an impression upon the fairer portion 
of the creation, which, in point of numbers, I believe to be quite 
unusal ; it is not one, two, ten, or twenty only, that I might have 
married, had I but held ray little finder up. I haven't a particle 
of vanity in my composition ; but common sense tells me there 
must be something about me to account for the very marked pre- 
ference shown me by the ladies. 

Mrs. C. Don't mistake me ! I always listen with pleasure when 
my own praises are sounded, though I seldom take the trouble to 
inquire to what regiment the trumpeter belongs ; you may go on. 

Sir E. It is now some three years since first I met you; on that 
occasion it was my good fortune to dance with you — shall I ever 
forget that dance ? no ! to my dying day the very tune will haunt 
me — it was a polka ! 

Mrs. C. No such thing ; it was a quadrille. 

Sik E. You're right, it was. I said it but to try you. 

Mrs. C. [aside). I wish I had held my tongue. 

Sik E. (aside). I didn't remember a bit about it ; but that's no- 
thing, [aloud) You are quite aware that I never even hinted to you 
the passion with which you then inspired me. 

Mrs. C. [aside). Now, is he going to have the effrontery to pre- 
tend that he has been in love with me all this time 7 

Sir E. No, like the gentle Viola, I u let concealment feed on my 
damask cheek." 

Mrs. C. While you yourself fed, I suppose, on your damask ta- 
ble-cloth. 

Sir E. Is this a moment for levity 1 I a^k you. is this a moment 
for levity ? but I am rightly served — women have adored me by 
dozens, and I have sported with their feelings, 1 have slighted 
them, poor dears ! but, at length, to avenge their sufferings, you 
step forward as their appointed champion, and 1, in turn, am 
doomed to the bitter pangs of unrequited affection. Oh, Mrs. 
Chillingtone, may you be saved from such a fate ! You have many 



b°0 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



admirers (not so many. I dare say, as I have, but a great many)—* 
you snub them all, but beware ! the time and the man may come, 
and you may meet in our sex, the avenger I have found in yours c 

Mrs. C. There's no great danger. 

Sir E. ! don't know thai, ; love delights in tormenting— women 
are weak creatures, men are full of deceit. 

Mrs. C. You must be going to publish a copy-book. 

Sir E. Extremes frequently meet ; she who begins by hating, 
often ends by loving ; some clay you may be addressed by one 
whom, like myself, for instance, at lirst sight — he may be very 
good-looking, although you may think him plain — his figure may 
be nearly faultless, and you see nothing in it — his conversation^ 
winning to all other ears, may fall unheeded upon yours — nay, 
even his voice, to many soft and sweet, may sound to you harsh 
and discordant. And yet this man shall bend your stubborn 
spirit— and how 1 I grieve to say by flattery ; he shall tell you 
you've a pretty foot. 

Mrs. C. Oh, Sir Edward ! 

Sir E. And praise, as indeed he may with truth, your dancing; 
he shall talk of the beauty of your figure 

Mrs.C. Oh, Sir Edward! 

Sir E. And compare it, to its advantage, with ihe classic forms 
of old ; he shall discourse of your brilliant wit 

Mrs. C. Oh, Sir Edward ! you'll prevent me from speaking at 
all. 

Sir E. And, having thus fixed your attention, and secured your 
silence, he shall tell you that your voice is " linked sweetness, 
long drawn out," that your face (Mrs. Chillingtone leans back, 
and throws a white handkerchief over her head] — but here descrip-* 
tion fails me — not because, as a proof of your unequalled modesty, 
you have concealed it— but because language offers not the means 
to do it justice. He no doubt will feel the same difficulty, and 
passing to your hand, which perhaps he may perceive, as I do now, 
for once without a glove, he shall, transported by his feelings, 
venture to take it w r ithin his, and finding no resistance, even to 
press it to his lips — then will you be convinced of the depth of his 
devotion, then, on a sudden, will the change take place — then will 
his figure in an instant become good, his face handsome, his con- 
versation brilliant, and his voice musical — then : but possibly 1 of- 
fend you — I will release your hand [he lets it go, it falls by her side) 
How is this 1 Is she ill 1 No ; slightly overcome — it's only anoth- 
er victory, gained a little sooner than 1 expected. Edward Ardent, 
what the devil is there in you, that no woman on earth can resist 
you ? I mast look at he: 1 . ' pulls the handkerchief from her face) Fast 
asleep, by all that's horrible ! (walks up and down, much exvted) it's 
enough to drive one mad — downright, stark, staring, raving mad 
—but she wakes. 

Mrs. C. [who has only pretended to be asleep, pretending to awake). 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 61 



What's o'clock ? Oh, what a dreadful noise you make. I was 
having such a nice nap. 

Sir E And charming dreams, no doubt 1 

Mrs. C. Yes, till just this, minute. 1 dreamt that a nice gentle- 
many man was saying all sorts of captivating things to me. 

Sir £. (aside). Indeed! (aloud) You to care about the creatures 
then? 

Miis. C Not a bit; but you know how absurd dreams are. 

Sir E. Very likely. 'A nice gentleuany man was saying all 
sorts of captivating things to you." 

Mrs. C. When suddenly he turned into a monkey, and grinned 
and chattered most repulsively. At length the monstir darted at 

my hand ; I fancied he was going to bite it, and 1 suppose that 

awoke me. 

Sir E. Others can awake from from dreams as well as you. 
Madam, good morning, [going) 

Mks C. Where is the man going to ] 

Sir E '• The man ! " the monster, you mean. 

Mrs. C. Well, the monster. 

Sin E. To the Zoological gardens. [Exit. 

Mrs. C. He is actually gone ; and some women would say '' 1 
have lost him forever." I knowing a little more of the world- - 
allow him five minutes, at the outside, to return. 



VICE AGAINST VIBTTJE. 

From Buckstone's Drama oi " The Wreck Ashore." 

CHARACTERS. 

Jemmy Starling, a Farm Laborer. 
Miles Bertram, a Young Squire. 
Walter Barnard, a Young Farmer. 

Time — A hundred years ago. 

Scene. — A rural landscape. 

[This is a very sensational and effective scene, which should be repeatedly 

9ed, in order that no accident occurs to mar its effect. A gun and an 

axe, which can be mad- of wood, are necessary in its representation, the axe 

to be lying in a corner of the stage. Miles, a villain, has made a proposal 

of marriage to Alice, who is the betrothed of Walter, and hence their feud.] 

Jemmy Starling is stun ling on the stage when a gun is fired off out- 
side. 

Jemmy (startled). Bless my heart \ what a condition my nerves 
must be in, when a gun makes me jump so ! I must speak to Dr. 



62 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS 



Bone upon the subject, (holes out) Oh ! it's young Squire Bertram, 
electrifying the hares and partridges. I wonder if he's got over 
the cut o' the head Miss Alice gave him with a spead when he 
wanted to be owdacious to her ; however, he must take care o' my 
young Master Walter, because I have raisons to suspect that he is 
her true lovier ; and when one is once a true lovier, one is 'clined 
to be lightish, and show violent simpletons. 

Enter Miles, re-loading Ms gun. 

Miles. Ah, my little Starling ! all up and busy on the farm, eh % 
and Alice the foremost amongst you. I warrant. 

Jem. I have not seed her as yet, sir. Pray, sir, if I may be so 
bold as to ask, how you got the hurt on your head so soon well % 
I suppose as you be so conveylissom, Dr. Bone gave you an in- 
scription to put on it. 

Miles The doctor was certainly skillful. 

Jem. Oh, that 'ere Dr. Bone ! he's a man of immense talons. 

Milks. 1 must be cautious that I do not meet with such another 
tumble 

Jem. Tumble, eh 1 He, he, he ! Pray don't think me imperent 
or consuming, but take a young chap's counsel as have seed a good 
deal of this world and its infernal organs, as Dr. Bone says ; when 
a pretty girl ben't willing to be kissed like, never go too far when 
she's a spead close at hand, (crosses) He, he, he ! You understand, 
" that's advice gratis," as Dr. Bone says. [Exit. 

Miles. All the boobies on the farm seem to know of the repulse 
I met with from Alice. What an idiot I am to think of a girl that 
I am convinced has no love for me ! Well, well, I'll see her for 
the last time, and if she still has a smile for Walter Barnard and a 
frown for Miles Bertram, a trip to London, or a cruise with Cap- 
tain Grampus will be of infinite service to the despised lover. I 
think I hear her voice. Alice ! are you there ] 

Walter Barnard appears. 

Walter. Who asks for Alice ? 

Milks. Walter ! how now, my lad, you look sulkily. 

Wal. It is time to look so, when neither good words nor harsh 
deeds will keep a man from a pursuit wherein he is not wanted, 
and can never obtain his object. 

Miles. It is, then, as I suspected ; my successful rival stands 
before me. Hark ye, Walter, you have ever been my rock ahead; 
even my superior ; at our school, in the race, in the sports of the 
field ; and even now, when I would contend with you for the heart 
of a silly girl, still am I followed by the same ill luck. ? Sdeath ! 
I should Lke to try a desperate struggle with yon, before I quite 
leave you to your laurels ; not that I care so much for the girl \ 



AMATEUR AND PAHLOH THEATRICALS. 68 



but k) be ever thrust aside, in this fashion, wounds my pride ; will 
you try a fall with me 1 or snap a pistol at ten or twelve paces 1 

Wal. I will do neither, Miles Bertram ; all I ask of you is. to 
discontinue your notice of Alice ; shake hands with me, and turn 
your thoughts elsewhere. 

Miles {putting his gun near the axe). Just one struggle; here, 
upon this spot Now, Walter, foot to foot, and aim to arm. 

Wal. No, no, be gone ; we shall have the people of the farm 
observe us. 

Miles You shall, by Heaven, you shall, (seizing him) or 111 dash 
my fist in your face, and brand you as a coward. 

Wal, Take your hands from me. You will not 1 

They struggle ; W^alter throws him over ; Miles regains his feet, 
seizes the ere. and is rushing on Walter, when Starling runs in. 
takes up Bertram's gun, and presents it at him. 

Jem. Drop the axe, or I'll perpetrate you with duck-shot. 

Wal. Go to your work, sir. 

Jem. Not till he drops the axe ; or I'll make a suicide of him. 
and send him again to Dr. Bone. 

Wal Give it me. (takes the gun from Jemmy, and offers it) There's 
your gun, Miles, take it, and own yourself fairly beaten ' 

Miles. Beaten ! 

W t al. Hush ! here's the girl ; take the gun and don't let her be 
a witness to our squabbling. (Miles takes the gun. crosses, and goes 
off, darling a look of fury at Walter.) 



royal talk to a king. 

From Charles Dance's Comedy of the "Victor Vanquished." 
CHARACTERS. 

Charles XII., King of Sweden. 
Barox de Gortz, Royal Secretary. 
Ikla, a Tartar Princess. 

Scene. — A Gothic chamber in the house of the Baron. A door at tlte 
bach and one on each side. Table covered with papers, etc., chairs, 
etc , of oak. A portrait of Louis XIV. on the wall. 

[After the battle of Pultrowa, Charles XII. returned to rule Sweden in a 
most despotic manner— punishing- the smallest crimes with death. To palli- 
ate his pride for the loss of the disastrous fight, terminating an ambitious ca- 
reer, apologists of Charles circulated a rumor that it was occasioned throug-h 
neglect of orders given to Gustavus Remold, captain of Hulans, who was, in 



64 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



consequence, condemned to death, yet escaped the penalty. Charles,.having 
seen Ikla, a Tartar princess, a niece of the Baron de Gortz, his secretary, 
visits her under the title of the Count d'Olfen, beneath which designation 
he is known in the following scene, in the hope of winning her affections, as 
her uncle, the Baron, dreams that the summit of his ambition can be gained 
through becoming the uncle, by marriage, to the Kiug. He has been engaged 
in composing a memoir of the life of Charles XII., and in it introduces a 
chapter giving " some account of his marriage by the Baron de Gortz, uncle 
of his majesty," an imaginative vision of the nuptials he seeks to bring about. 
Charles, in perusing the manuscripts laying upon the baron's table, has tak- 
en this title page which the baron desired to suppress until the marriage 
actually occurred. This is the paper to which the monarch alludes.] 

Baron de Gortz. That girl gets the better of everybody ; but I 
begin to be afraid she'll make a mess of this glorious marriage, {door 
opens) And here comes the awful individual 1 fondly hoped to call 
my nephew. 

Enter Charles XII., papers in his hand. 

Charles {giving papers). Baron de Gortz, communicate these 
orders to whom they concern, for everything is to be in readiness 
for my departure within two hours. I shall open the campaign 
to-morrow, (crosses.) 

Bar. To-morrow, sire ? War is not yet declared. 

Charles. Then, sir, we'll declare it as we go along. 
I Bar. What route will your majesty please to take 7 

Charles Berlin. 

Bar Might I venture to ask what or who has induced your ma- 
jesty to take this sudden determination 1 

Charles. You ! I have been reading your book, and you have 
opened my eyes. 

Bar. (aside). I'd better have shut my own for good, (aloud) I as- 
sure your majesty, I had no such intention. 

Charles* I dare say not, Baron. Men who are not quite so 
clever as they think themselves, and who yet will write a book, of- 
tentimes produce effects the exact contrary of those they contem- 
plated. I have been fooling away my time for the last fortnight 
with a woman, and forgetting the higher destinies to which I was 
born, {down ) 

Bar. (looking round — aside). I wish she'd come ; he d soon forget 
his destinies again. 

Charles. Make my excuses to your charming niece, and tell 

her 

Enter Ikla, in rich Tartar costume. 

Bar Your pardon, sire; she comes to receive your adieus in 
person. 

Charlks (aside). Confound it! (crosses) I was in hopes to avoid 
seeing her again, (turning from her and going up.) 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 65 



Ikla. Your servant, Count. 

Charles {without looking at her). Madam, your most obedient. 

Ikla. Is that the way you receive me 1 

Charles. Why, the fact is — {gradually looking around at her — 
aside) Plague take the creature ! How pretty she looks ! {advances) 
I really must — no, no, I'd better not. 

Ikla. Well, Count, as my x^resence seems to embarrass you, I 
beg to apologize for the intrusion, and depart, (going up.) 

Charles. Stay ! 

Ikla. Indeed, I shall do no such thing, {going.) 

Charles. Stay, I command you ! 

Ikla [turning). Dear me ! — command, indeed ! Perhaps you 
fancy yourself the King % 

Rae. (aside to Ikla). Never you mind — stay ! 

Charles. Perhaps I did, and perhaps I was wrong. No one 
can be said to be King when a superior power is present. At all 
events, I beg your pardon. 

Ikla. 0, don't say another word about it ! I know very well I'm 
hasty and thoughtless enough myself. 

Bar. (aside to Charles). Your majesty will graciously make al- 
lowance for her Tartar education. 

Charles, (aside to him). Leave us ! (aloud) Baron, give me those 
papers again. (Baron is about to do so, but, on a sign from the King, 
he goes up, and x)laces them on table in portfolio.} 

Bar. [aside). Women for ever ! I never knew a proclamation of 
peace follow so quickly on a declaration of war. [Exit. 

The Count and Ikla look at each other — they seem to hesitate as to 
which is to speak first. After a little, they advance ; both seem 
about to speak, but hesitate again, and return to their former posi- 
*tions. 

Charles (aside). Would any one believe that 1 am Charles the 
Twelfth 1 I begin to doubt it myself. Nations tremble at my 
name, yet I — 1 wont say tremble — but feel very much like a fool 
in the presence of a simple girl ! 

Ikla (aside). My plan is almost too bold — but love prompts it; 
justice supports it, and success will crown it. 

Charles (aside). Come, come, this won't do. Though she don't 
know who I am, I must remember that I do ! (advances towards her.) 

Ikla (aside). He approaches — he seeks a Tartar — he shall find 
one ! 

Charles. Well, are you getting more reconciled to the habits of 
a civilized country ? 

Ikla I beg your pardon, — is Sweden what you call a civilized 
country ? 

Charles (asi>le). She's beginning with her usual impertinence. 
(aloud) Certainly — most certainly ! 



66 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



Ikla. Well, don't be angry — I only asked for information. 

Charles. Have you any reason to doubt it ? 

Ikla. None whatever — only all things go by comparison. 

Charles. Why, you don't mean to compare your country with 
mine, surely ? 

Ikla. 0, dear, no — for two reasons. 

Charles. Which are 

Ikla. The one that I think the argument would become too per- 
sonal ; the other, that I am quite sure you would get the worst of 
it. 

Charles {aside). If this be honesty (and I think it is), it's a 
pity that kings don't meet with it more frequently, {aloud) Come, 
then, let us have your opinion of Sweden, as compared with some 
other country. 

Ikla. The opinion of a barbarian, like me, is not worth much 
upon such subjects ; but, as you ask it, I think there is, at this 
moment, but one truly civilized country on the face of the earth. 

Charles. And that is 

Ikla. France. 

Charles. Have you ever been there ? 

Ikla. Never ; I judge from books and pictures. 

Charles. A pretty way of judging ! 

Ikla. Not a bad one, Count, when you can't see the originals. 
How do you judge of the Egyptians, the Phoenicians, the Greeks, 
the Romans 1 

Charles. Never mind — go on with what you were saying. 

Ikla. Well, look at that picture : it's a portrait of Louis the 
Fourteenth. 

Charles. I see it is — and what of that 1 

Ikla. If I were ever so unfortunate as to fall in love with a 
king ; it would be with him. 

Charles. For his fine clothes, I suppose ? 

Ikla. Not at all. If dress were the only attraction, I might as 
well fall in love with any trumpery count about his person. 

Charles. Trumpery ! 

Ikla. A careless word, Count used merely by way of compari- 
son. Surely you will admit that a count sinks to nothing when 
compared to a king 1 

Charles. Certainly— certainly ! 

Ikla. Now, Louis the Fourteenth expects from aw nis courtiers 
the same attention to magnificence of costume which he exhibits 
in his own person ; and, in my humble opinion, he is quite right. 
A good king is the last to think more of himself for the pomp 
which surrounds him ; while his subjects would be the first to 
think less of him if he neglected to man tain it : both see the neces- 
sity, and both wisely submit to it. 

Charles. The Swedes are a nation of w T arriors. I fear you think 



AMATEUR AXD PARLOR THEATRICALS. 67 



more of the tailor who makes the coat, than of the soldier who 
wears it. Charles the Twelfth has little to hope from you. 

Ikla. I beg your pardon — I adore him. 

Charles. 0, you do ! 

Ikla. Of course I do — as a warrior. I can't say quite so much 
for him at all times. 

Charles Is he not the same in peace as in war ? 

Ikla. That's my objection to him. in war I would hare him 
nothing but what he is — brave, dashing, daring, reckless — fight- 
ing against all rules of war — victorious in defiance of them! 

Charles. You're a little darling \ and Charles the Twelfth — if 
he knew you — would be very fond of you. You have his measure 
exactly. 

Ikla. Then I am sorry l"m not his tailor, for I would soon make 
him some better-looking clothes. 

Charles. Clothes again ! What can they signify ? 

Tkla Jn war, nothing ; but, in peace, everything. In war let 
him wear what he likes — nay. pardon me. Count, let him be even 
as quaint and as untidy as you are; bur, in peace, let him assume 
the splendor that becomes a king ; let him give balls, banquets, 
fetes — more, mind you. for the good of others than himself, for 
this again is a part of the penalty he has to pay for the station 
that he fills. Moreover, if he would have his courtiers acceptable 
to ladies, let him cause them to make a corresponding change in 
their habiliments. 

Charles, its a pity you haven't some high situation about the 
court. It strikes me you would soon put them all to rights. 

Ikla. Wouldn't I ! 

Charles. Where would you begin ? 

Ikla. With the king, to be sure. I always begin at the begin- 
ning. 

Charles. How would yon dress him ? 

Ikla ( pointing to picture). So. 

Charles. What, {goes to it) in all that lace, embroidery and frip- 
pery ? — above all, with that mountebank-looking wig ? You may 
spare yourself the attempt — Charles the Twelfth would rather die 
fifty deaths than appear, for one moment, before his council, in so 
ridiculous a guise. 

Ikla (aside . My plan succeeds beyond my hopes, (aloud) Well, 
then, 1 won't attempt it ; and yet it's to be lamented. 

Charles. Why so ? 

Ikla. Because he can have no idea what a superior being lie 
would look, it' he would but give himself a fair chance. He is of 
a manly stature. 

ClIAi: 

Ikla. A noble appearance. 

Charles. Yes. 

Ikla. Has a handsome countenance. 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS 



Charles. Yes. 

Ikla. And a princely bearing. 

Charles. Ikla, {walks up to her) I feel inclined to eat you up. 

Ikla. How devoted you must be to the king ! 

Charles. Well, I am ; but I came here, as well as I can recol- 
lect, to tell you how devoted I am to you; only I confess myself 
awkward in these matters. I never cared for a woman till I saw 
you. 

Ikla. Why, Count, you must be the very counterpart of the 
king. They say he hates women. 

Charles {taking her hand). He does no such thing. 

Ikla {drawing away her hand). How do you know 1 

Charles. I think I know him. 

Ikla. You might as well say you think you know yourself. 

Charles ( quickly). How 1 

Ikla. Which no man does. 

Charles. I know you, at all events. I know what a taking, 
striking, bewitching little creature you are : above all, I know how 
I love you — in that costume. 

Ikla. A thousand thanks. Count, for the compliment you pay 
[curtseying) my dress. 

Charles. Nay, nay, surely one ma} T love a person, and yet 
fancy them more in one costume than in another ; — but to the 
point, for I am a plain, blunt soldier, and like to know the worst 
that can happen to me. Do you love me 1 

Ikla. Is that the worst that can happen to you % 

Charles. Ikla, I generally get the best of it at blows, but I own 
you beat me at words. I shall simply return to the charge— do 
you love me % 

Ikla. One may love a person, and yet fancy them more in one 
costume than in another. 

Charles. I said that of you— but I can't see how it applies to 
me. 

Ikla. Then I'll tell you. I wish to see you in a dress like that. 
(poinding to picture.) 

Charles. The King would not permit it, and if he would, I 
have no such dress. Now get over those two obstacles if you can. 

Ikla. Easily. The King won't see you when you have them on, 
and the dress {goes up behind) hangs up in that room. Come, Count, 
go in and put it on. {advances and looks up in his face) Won't you, to 
oblige me % 

Charles. I won't. I am not used to contradiction. 

Ikla. No ; you said you were not used to the ways of women ; 
but if you would win their affection you must become so. 

Charles. Do you mean to say, you little absolute tyrant, that 
you insist on this folly 1 

Ikla. dear, no ! 1 only asked it — but since ycu refuse me, 
farewell forever, (crosses.) 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



Charles. What is it you mean 1 

Ikla. To return to my own wild home. Why should I remain in 
a country where the first simple favor I ask is denied mel (sits.) 

Charles. Well, w T ell, Til do it. (Ikla jumps up) Charles the 
Twelfth himself has yielded before to-day to the force of circum- 
stances, and why should not 1 1 ( going up to door — turns, and speaks 
in a tone of severe earnestness) But mind, for your life, let no mortal 
eyes bat yours behold me. 

Ikla. My life shall answer it. (Count enters the room, and closes 
the door) Courage, Ikla, fortune still befriends you. 

Charles {opens the door, and looks out}. You had better lock the 
doors. 

Ikla. I'll lock them all — in turn. (Count closes the door) I've 
beaten him so far. I play a desperate game — but if I win, I save 
a life of far more value than my own. 

Bar. (opens the door, andljoks in). Ikla, are }~ou alone 7 ? 

Ikla. 1 am, uncle, but you can't come in. 

Bar. (entering). Nonsense ! I tell you I must come in. I have 
something that I must say to you. 

Ikla. Say it then — and beware you don't exceed three minutes. 

Bar. What is the meaning of all this ? 

Ikla. Ask no questions, but speak and quickly ; above all, 
speak low, or you may cease to have a head to speak with. 

Bar. {looking round the apartment). What, is he 

Ikla [pointing to door). Yes, he — is — there. Now do you under- 
stand ? 

Bar. 0, good gracious ! thoroughly. I want to put you on your 
guard. The police have sent to say they have reason to believe 
that a young man is concealed somewhere in my chateau. 

Ikla. I know it. I have concealed him. 

Bar. You ! Who is he 1 (two steps forward to Ikla.) 

Ikla. Gustavus Reinold. 

Bar. Ikla, you've murdered me ! 

Ikla. Not so bad as that, I hope. 

Bar. Worse ! you've made me commit suicide ! 

Ikla. Nay, if you commit suicide, it's your own fault. 

Bar. I tell you that whoever harbors that traitor, is to be shot — 
by my own orders. 

Ikla. Then I must say it serves you quite right — for you know 
well that Gustavus is no traitor. 

Bar. What signifies that ? If the king orders it, he must be 
shot — and so must I. 

Ikla. Of course you must. But never mind — shooting is an 
easy death, and a gentlemanlike one. 

Bar. For shame, Ikla, for shame ! What made you take so 
fatal an interest in this wretched young man 1 

Ikla. His misfortunes. He is innocent ; I know it, and my 
dear mother, your sister, knew it also. Forced by a cruel and un- 



70 AMATEUR AND ^ARLOR THEATRICALS. 



just sentence to fly his country, he found refuge and safety €n 
ours. 

Rar. Then why the devil did he leave it ? 

Ikla. To follow roe when you sent for me. 

Bar. (aside). Then it's my own doing again, (crosses — Ikla goes 
up to door.) 

Ikla. Finding the pursuit so hot, I thought the best asylum for 
him was your chateau. 

Bar. I'm much obliged to you for the preference. There is but 
one chance for us all— marry the Count, and then 

Ikla. If it depends on that, our chance is small ; but listen to 
me — obey me, and all will yet be well. You must leave the room, 
and that instantly ; but remain outside the door ; when you hear 
me cough — (cough)— so — (whispers to him — he seems astonished, and 
whispers to her with earnest anxiety — she whispers to him again.) 

Bar. {breaking from her in great alarm). I dare not do it ! it would 
cost me my life. 

Ikla. Which is already forfeited. 

Bar. That's painfully true. I believe I'm lost either way. 

Ikla. Do what I have told you, and fear nothing {goes up to 
door.) 

Bar. I will, I will — but mind you 

Ikla. He's coming ! — Fly ! 

[Exit Baron, hurriedly off, and followed by Ikla. 



tact and fact. 

From John Courtney's Drama of " Time Tries All." 
CHARACTERS. 

Tom Tact, a Merchant's Clerk, 
Fanny Fact, a Lady's Maid. 

Time — Present xoeriod. 

Scene. — A handsome Drawing-room. 

fThis is a pleasant little interlude, which can be readily given in any draw- 
ing-room. The scene is ja familiar contrast between an underpaid merchant's 
clerk and an overpaid female servant of his employer.] 

Tom Tact enters and says : 

Tact. I want to see the governor. It's quite impossible I can 
carry on any longer at the rate I go, on seventy-five pounds a 
year ; and I don't see why I should remain a junior clerk till I'm 
a senior in years. This is a strange world, they say it's round; & 



AMATEUR AXD PARLOR THEATRICALS. 71 



certainly is not a square one, if I may judge by my doraus and this. 
Here's luxury ! Ah, well — one man's born rich, another poor ; 
I shouldn't have 'found so much fault with the world if 1 had 
been born rich ; but to be poor is the very deuce. A man can do 
nothing when he's poor! — he can't be witty — for no one will 
laugh at his jokes, however good they may be ; he can't — yes, he 
can do one thing — he can make love, which generally makes him 
poorer still. 

Enter Fanny Fact. 

Ah, Miss Fact, good day ! 

Fanny. Good day, Mr. Tact; pleasant weather this. 

Tact. Yes, very, for those who can enjoy it. 

Fanny. Ah ! enjoyment, Mr. Tact, is only for those who can 
pay for it. 

Tact. The very thing I was saying to myself as you came in. 
Singular reciprocity of feeling, isn't it 1 

Fanny. Very singular, {glancing at him) I always thought him a 
nice little fellow, (aside.) 

Tact. You have a snug situation here, I suppose, Miss Fact. 

Faxxy. Pretty well, Mr. Fact. 

Tact. Fact and Tact — very odd — singular coincidence— though 
odd — perquisites of course 1 

Faxxy. Yes. 

Tact. Tolerable wages ? 

Fanny. Yes. 

Tact. That's right ! — give you joy, Miss Fact, of so comfortable 
a position in life. 

Fanny. I don't know about comfort, Mr. Tact ; there are other 
things than those you have named, to make up comfort. 

Tact. You are right, Miss Fact! — I know — home — your own 
home— fire- side— snug comer — Mr. Tact — Mrs. Tact— the little 
Tacts — one's own master ! 

Fanny. Exactly, Mr. Tact ;— there's no knowing what we ser- 
vants have to put up with. 

Tact (aside). Junior clerks particularly ; I have to put up with 
seventy-five pounds a year. 

Fanny. T have a great deal, I can assure you. 

Tact. And I have very little, (aside) I dare say you have — [look- 
ing at her) She's indubitable pretty, (aside) You have a holiday now 
and then, I suppose, Miss Fact. 

Fanny. Oh, yes ; I have one on Monday next, (glancing at him.) 

Tact. That's very odd : I've one on Monday next. You'll take 
a trip, of course ? 

Fanny. Where am I to trip to, and with whom ? (//lancing.) 

Tact. 'Gad ! I'll take her out. She has saved a little I dare say. 
I'll sound her. (aside) You'd like a trip, of course ] 

Fanny. Ah, that I should ! Do you often take a trip. Mr. Tact ? 



72 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



Tact. Oh, yes, very often. Too often on seventy-five pounds a 
year, (aside) What sort of a trip would you like, Miss Fact 1 

Fanny. Oh, suppose we say to Hampton Court by rail — dine — • 
walk — then tea — back to town — the theatre — home — that's not 
much. 

Tact (aside, takes out a long, narrow entry-booh). To Hampton per 
rail, 5s ; dinner for two, 15s : tea, 5s, — one pound ; rail home, 5s ; 
theatre, 5s ; — just the money — seventy-five pounds a year — thirty 
shillings a week — one week's salary gone in one day. — Accounts 
closed, (shuts book) Good morning, Miss Fact ! [Exit suddenly. 

Fanny. Well, I'm sure! Good day, Mr. Tact! A calculating 
gentleman — nothing speculative about him but his eyes — has all 
the inclination for the enjoyments of life, but lacks the enterprise $ 
one eye on matrimony — the other on the savings bank. 



LIVING ON FALSE PEETENCES. 

From J. M. Morton's Farce of "Done on Both Sides." 

CHARACTERS. 

Mr. Whiffles, a Retired Exciseman. 

Mr. John Brownjohn, an Impecunious Gentleman, 

Mrs. Whiffles, an Assumer of Dignity. 

Time — The present day. 

Scene. — An apartment, simply furnished, with two doors, one on each 
side, and two windows at the bach ; fireplace, a table, chairs, etc. 

[The object of this scene is to portray the deceits practised by those living 1 
in a style unsupported by their income. Mr. Whiffles should be a nervous, 
anxious and awkwaid man of middle age as a contrast to his wife, who is 
younger, bold, ingenious and self-confident. Mr. Brownjohn is a rollicking, 
daring adventurer, who, having seen Whiffles' daughter at some social party, 
conceives the idea of marrying the girl with the view of gaining for himself 
a comfortable home through quartering himself upon, as he presumes, a well- 
to-do father-in-law. Although thoroughly in debt he assumes the air, man- 
ner and tone of an independent gentleman. The dress of Whiffles is of the 
quality denoted as shabby-genteel, while that of his visitor should be the 
costume of a fast man.] 

Whiffles discovered kneeling at the fireplace, and rubbing a copper coal- 
scuttle ivith great energy. Mrs. Whiffles cleaning the window 
with a cloth. 

Whif. {pushing coal-scutlle away). 0, bother the coal-scuttle ! The 
more I try to get a polish on it, the more I can't. 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 73 



Mrs. W. You needn't abuse the poor, helpless, unprotected coal- 
scuttle, Mr. Whiffles. 

Whif. I merely say, Mrs. W., and I say it emphatically, that 
this copper receptacle for fuel is making a very ungrateful return 
for the liberal amount of friction that I've been lavishing upon it 
for the last three-quarters of an hour, {rising) 0, my back ! Jemi- 
ma, Jemima, come and straighten me ! 

Mrs. W. What a hurry you are in to be sure ! Wait a little. 

Whif. Unfeeling woman ! You wouldn't have me go about des- 
cribing a semicircle for the rest of my life, w T ould you ? 

Mrs. W. {coming doivn, and helping him). Well, there 

Whif. Thank ye. Ahem ! Mrs. Whiffles, since I listened to 
your advice, and consented to break up our establishment 

Mrs. W. Our establishment ! Ha ! ha ! consisting of one scrubby 
servant girl 

Whif. And a charity boy, twice a week to clean the knives and 
forks, Mrs. W. You won't overlook that important item, I hope. 
However, since that period six months have elapsed, during which 
time you must confess that I have applied myself with considerable 
zeal — I might say, enthusiasm — to the various occupations of 
household drudgery that have fallen to my lot ; while you have 
attended to the cooking, and Air daughter Lydia to the washing, 
ironing, darning, and mending department, I have shaken carpets, 
cleaned stoves, inclusive of fenders and fire-irons ; initiated myself 
into the practical properties of blacklead and hearthstone ; polish- 
ed tables, chairs, boots and shoes. But T now candidly confess, 
Mrs. Whiffles, that I have had, if not too much, at least quite 
enough, of it. In other words, Mrs. W., we must keep a servant. 

Mrs. W. Mr. W., we can't afford it. We must be economical. 
If we were not, could we live as comfortably as we do 1 

Whif. Comfortably ! {nibbing his back) Well, perhaps my Jemima 
is ri^ht after all. 

Mrs. W. Perhaps 1 Mr. W., did you ever know Jemima in the 
wrong, sir 1 Depend upon it, it is much better to be envied than 
pitied. Thanks to your exertions, added to mine and Lydia's, 
there's not a house in Arabella Row, Pimlico, can boast of more 
credit or respectability than ours; and if we can only get our 
precious Lydia comfortably settled 

Whip. But there's the rub. I don't see any chance of it. 

Mrs. W. When did you ever see anything in your life, Mr. W., 
unless it was thrust under your very nose 1 How is it, I should 
like to know, that our friends and acquaintances consider us to be 
so much better to do in the world than we really are ? Simply be- 
cause we give our friends and acquaintances tea and muffins every 
other Monday throughout the year. And where do those " teas and 
muffins" come from, Mr. W. ? Why, from the money we save by 
sending the servant about her business, and doing the work our- 
selves. 



74 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



Whif. Invaluable Jemima ! What you say is perfectly true. 
Egad, I do believe my neighbors take me for a retired Lord of the 
Treasury, or a Commander-in-Chief on half pay, instead of a poor 
devil of a superannuated exciseman, with a paltry hundred a year. 

Mrs. W. Never mind their mistake, if we can profit by it ; and, 
as I said before, if we can only get our darling Lydia comfortably 
and genteelly settled 

Whif. But, as I said before, I don't see that our darling Lydia is 
one jot nearer finding a husband than she was w T hen I first took to 
beating carpets, cleaning stoves, inclusive of fenders 

Mrs. W. Now do hold your tongue ! I've had quite enough of 
that. 

Whif. To be candid with you, so have I, and a trifle to spare. 

Mrs. W. {mysteriously). Whiffles, what if I were to tell you that 
Lydia had made an impression 1 

Whif. No ! 

Mrs. W. A conquest. 

Whif. No ! Who's the unhappy victim 1 — I mean, who's the 
fortunate individual ? 

Mrs. W. Listen. Don't you remember, about three weeks ago 
a young gentleman picking you out of the gutter in Fleet Street? 

Whif. I can't say I do ; but I perfectly remember his knocking 
me into it. 

Mrs. W. A mere accident, for which, while you were lying in- 
sensible, he most handsomely apologized. 

Whif. What was the use of his apojogizing to me w r hen I was 
insensible ? 

Mrs. W. Never mind. Well, last Tuesday evening, at Mrs. 
Broadside's tea-party, who should I spy in one corner of the room, 
with a cup of coffee in one hand and a piece of buttered toast in 
the other, but your young friend 

Whif. My young friend ! The fellow that knocked me 

Mrs. W. Never mind. 0, Whiffles ! such a gentlemanly looking 
person ; and, from what I managed to squeeze out of Mrs. Broad- 
sides, just the young man to push his way in the world. 

Whif. T can answer for his pushing his way in Fleet Street. 

Mrs. W. Never mind. Well, Mr. Brownjohn (for that's the 
gentleman's name) kept his eye fixed on Lydia the whole evening ; 
in short, he looked at her as you used to look at me, Toby, before 
you popped the question. 0, Toby, that look of yours — I think I 
see it now. (Whiffles looks tenderly) No, it wasn't that at all. 
(Whiffles tries again) That's not a bit like it, sir. 

Whif. Isn't it? It's such a plaguy long time ago. 

Mrs. W. Well, Toby, Mr. Brownjohn would insist upon seeing 
us home ; of course I couldn't say no. And then he requested 
permission to call ; of course I said, yes. 

Whif. Don't you think you've been rather precipitate 1 

Mrs. W. Not at all ; for I've been instituting inquiries respect- 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



iQg Mr. Brownjohn all round the neighborhood, for the last two 
days, aud the result is in the highest degree satisfactory. In the 
first place, as to his domestic habits, he never comes home late at 
night 

Whif. That's good ! 

M;s. W. But always early in the morning. 

Whif. ! 

Mrs. W. Then, I find, he's deep in all his tradesmen's book s 

Whif. That doesn't look well. 

Mrs. W. On the contrary ; for, if he wasn't well off, do you sup- 
pose they'd give him credit'? No, no. Depend upon it, he's the 
husband foi Lydia. 

Whif. Well, but when does this gentleman intend to call 1 

Mrs. W. He didn't say. 

Whif. That's a pity. It would be rather awkward if he should 
happen to pop in, and find me polishing up my friend there, {points 
to the scuttle. ) 

Mrs. W. Xo fear of that ; he's too well bred to call in the morn- 
ing, (loud rat tat at the street door.) 

Whif. and > What's that? (Whiffles runs to right window, ana 

Mrs. W. ) Mrs. Whiffles to left window, and look out.) 

Enter Brownjohn. 

Brown. Really, my dear Mrs. Whiffles, I'm quite horrified that 
you should have had the trouble, (crosses.) 

Mrs. W. Don't allude to it. Good gracious ! I declare, you're 
quite wet ! I'd no idea it rained ! 

Brown. A slight shower, that's all. (shakes his hat avertable) You 
see, Mrs Whiffles, I have lost no time in availiug myself of your 
kind permission to pay my respects. 

Mrs. W. 0, sir, I'm sure I'm delighted, and so is Mr. Whiffles. 
Whiffles ! (sees Whiffles rubbing the table with his coat tail) Mr. 
Whiffles ! 

Whif. Yes, my dear ! 

Mrs. W. Mr. Brownjohn, Mr. Whiffles ; Mr. Whiffles, Mr. Brown- 
john. 

BitOWM. (aside, after examining Whiffles\ Ah! a stupid, good 
tempered looking specimen of antiquity enough, {shakes Whiffles' 
hand) Mr. Whiffles, I'm delighted to make your acquaintance. 
(puts his hat on table ; Whiffles instantly takes it off again) No, no ! 
(puts hat on table.) 

Whif. Well, but — 'taking hat off table again.) 

Brown. 0, very well ; if you insist upon it, you may hold it. 
{aside, and looking about him) Everything looks remarkably clean 
ar»d comfortable here ; and there's a sort of quiet, snug, three-and- 
a-quarter per cent, look about Whiffles that's unmistakable. The* 
the daughter is really charming. Nevertheless, I won't speak orfc 



% AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



till I've fathomed the depth a little, {aloud) Allow me to assure you, 
my dear Whiffles — I beg pardon — I ought to have said Mister, 
and, if you insist on the Mister 

Whif. Oh, bother ! I don't care about the Mister. 

Brown. Then I'll omit the Mister. As I was saying, Whiffles — 
my dear Whiffles — ever since I have resided in this respectable lo- 
cality, I have heard so much of you ! I may say, the very atmos- 
phere seems charged with the name of Whiffles. For my part, I 
go to bed with Whiffles, I get up with Whiffles, I breathe Whiffles, 
I eat Whiffles, I drink Whiffles ; in short, you haunt me, Whiffles ! 
'Pon my life, you do ! 

Whif. Dear, dear ! I'm sure I'm very sorry— — 

Brown. Sorry ! You ought to be nattered — delighted ! for, 
with me, the influence of the name of Whiffles is such, that I may 
safely aver, affirm, make oath, and declare, that I never lay my 
head on my pillow at night, or raise it again in the morning, with- 
out feeling a sensation of craving, a sort of aching void 

Whif. Well, do you know, that's just my case, sometimes. But 
I find it goes away after breakfast. 

Brown. I'm afraid you misunderstand me. I mean, I have felt 
that there's something wanting to complete my happiness. 

Whif. And that was 

Brown. You'll never guess ; so don't try. That necessary in- 
gredient to my felicity was neither more nor less than your 
knocker ! 

Whif. My knocker ! 

Brown. I mean the application of it — the opportunity of famil- 
iarizing my hand to it. In short, I panted for the privilege of 
dropping in upon you at all hours of the day — of breakfasting, 
lunching, dining, teaing, supping, and now and then taking a bed 
of you. And what my ingenuity failed to bring about, kind for- 
tune accomplished for me. And now, Whiffles, I'll never leave 
you again — {slaps him on the back) — never ! 

Whif. Thank ye. But I don't exactly 

Brown. Understand 1 The deuce you don't ! Surely you re- 
member our fortunate meeting in Fleet street ? 

Whif. What, when you knocked me into the 

Brown. Exactly. You droll fellow, you. I see you never for- 
get a good thing ! Funny Whiffles ! The fact is, I was in a devil 
of a hurry to get to by broker's, having a few spare thousands to 
invest, {with emphasis.) 

Mrs. W. (aside to Whiffles). A few spare thousands ! You hear 
that, Mr. Whiffles ? 

Brown. Ah, Whiffles, you little know how much I am Indebted 
to that lucky accident. 

Whif, Oh, yes, I do. I was obliged to order a new pair of 
trousers, which I couldn't get made under seventeen and sixpence. 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 77 



But, my dear sir, if you were in such a devil of a hurry, why did 
you walk ] 

Brown. Bless you, I always walk when I'm in a hurry ; when I 
particularly wish to he behind time, I ride. Ha ! ha ! I say, 
Whiffles, capital furniture you've got here — must have cost you a 
deal of money. 

Whif. {with affected grandeur). Really, I forget 

Brown, {aside,. I begin to have my suspicions. Perhaps they're 
not so well off after all — unless my friend Whiffles is a bit of a 
Jew. What if he is % So much the better. The less he spends, 
the more he'll have to leave, (aloud) How the deuce you contrive 
to set such a polish on your table, I can't imagine. 

Whif. Ah, it takes a deal of rubbing, I can tell you. I've been 
at it for half an hour this morning. 

Brown. You ? 

Whif. Yes — no — I mean — that is 

Mrs. W. {interposing). He means he has been superintending the 
servant, [aside to Whiffles) Toby, you're putting your foot in it. 

Whif. Wheugh ! {talcing the leather out of his pocket, and wiping his 
face with it.) 

Brown. Holloa ! what's that . 

Whif. (forgetting himself). This? Oh, this is the leather that 
I've been rubbing 

Mrs. W. The silver with, (interposing.) 

Whif. No, the copper. (Mrs. Whiffles gives him a pinch) Oh, 
y es — exactly — I mean the silver — it's a little eccentricity I have. I 
always do it, and very hard work it is, too. 

Brown, (aside). Silver! That sounds well — and " very hard 
work, too." Then there's plenty of it: they must be well off. 
(aloud) I perfectly agree with you, Whiffles — I certainly <& like my 
plate to look clean. 

Whif. Oh, I've nothing to do with that ; Mrs. Whiffles washes 
the plates and dishes. 

Brown. Eh? 

Mrs. W. (coming hastily between them). Ha! ha ! ha! Whiffles is" 
such a wag ! (giving Whiffles another pinch) The fact is, Mr. Brown- 
jolni, the day before yesterday we gave Nancy a holiday 

Whif. Who's Nancy ? 

Mus. W. Why, the cook, (aside to Whiffles) How stupid you 
are ! 

Whif. Oh — ah — yes ! The fact is, I never know any of the 
creatures' names. 

Blown, (aside). Any of their names 1 Quite an establishment ! 
They must be well off. 

Mrs. W. Well, you must know, that I was complaining to Mr. 
Whiffles that— that— (aside t, Whiffles.) What did I call her 1 

Whif. (bothered,. Eh 1 Oh, Patty ! 

Mrs. W. I say, I was complaining that Patty didn't do her 
work 



78 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



Brown, {aside). Nancy ! Patty ! Two of them I — That looks 
well. 

Mrs. W. When— ha ! ha! ha! I can't help laughing — Mr. 
Whiffles said 1 found fault without a cause, and offered to bet me 
a wager that I couldn't do the girl's work in double the time ; and 
so — ha ! ha ! — just for the fun of the thing, I accepted the wager, 
and won it with five minutes to spare. Ha ! ha ! ha ! {aside to 
Whiffles) Why don't you laugh 1 

Whif. Ha! ha ! ha.! (aside) I very nearly let the cat out of the 
bag. Never mind, I'll make up for it. (aloud) By the by, Mrs. 
Whiffles, talking of servants, where is — 1 say, where is — (aside to 
her) What do you call her 1 I know, (aloud) Where is Peggy ? 

Brown, (aside). Peggy 1 Another of them ! 

Miis. W. Why, don't you know I sent her out with John, the 
/botman % 

Brown, (aside). John, the footman ! That settles it — they must 
be rolling in wealth. 

Whif. Then, Mrs. Whiffles, (assuming grandeur) once for all, I 
will not allow my servants to be continually sent out of the house 
without my permission. 

Brown, (aside). Holloa! Whiffles is getting lively. 

Whif. And let me tell you, madam 

Brown, (interposing). My dear Whiffles ! 

Whif. Excuse me, Mr. Brownjohn. I say, madam, if this hap- 
pens again, I'll instantly break up our town establishment and re- 
turn to Whiffles Park, (aside) There I had him. 

Brown, (aside). Whiffles Park ! It's too much — I'm getting quite 
bewildered. 

Whif. You hear, madam ! (aside to Mrs. Whiffles) I'll go and 
finish dusting the next room, and be sure you don't let him come 
in till you hear me cough three times, (aloud, and assuming his gran- 
deur) Remember, madam ! Mr. Brownjohn, your most obedient. 
(going off to door, stops, and calls) Sally, tell the coachman I want 
him ! [Exit. 

Brown, (aside). Sally ! Coachman ! Egad, I am in luck ! I'd 
no notion of anything of this sort. I must clinch matters at once. 
(aloud) My dear Mrs. Whiffles, since you are so very pressing, I at 
once accept your invitation ! 

Mrs. W. My invitation ! (hesitatingly.) 

Brown. Which you gave me at Mrs. Broadsides' the other even- 
ing. Your flattering words on that occasion were, u My dear Mr. 
Brownjohn, you must come and dine with us " — with an amiable 
emphasis on the must. 

Mrs. W. Yes — of course — I perfectly remember 

Brown. I thought so. (aside) Considering she never opened her 
lips on the subject, she must have ar* extraordinary memory, (aloud) 
To which I replied, " Excellent Mvs, Whiffles, 1 will " — and here 
lam. 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



Mrs. W. Yes — I see — and now — what day shall we say ? To- 
morrow fortnight, or Monday three weeks 1 But perhaps that's 
too early ] 

Browx. By several degrees not early enough, Mrs. Whirries. 
I'm come to dine with you to-day. 

Mrs. W. To-day 1 Well, now, that's so kind of you. (aside) 
There isn't an atom of anything in the house, (aloud) But you see, 
Mr. Brownjohn, we dine so preposterously late 

Browx. Cant be too late for me. (aside) I very often have to 
wait for my dinner. 

Mrs. W. But. to-day, somehow or other, we happen to dine so 
ridiculously early 

Rrowx So much the better, for I'm absurdly hungry. 

Mrs. W. (aside). Here's a pretty situation ! I must put him off. 

Browx. Now, pray. Mrs. Whiffles, don't put yourself out of the 
way on my account — the plainest dinner possible, I beg. A little 
soup— fish, if you have it — if not, game — pastry to follow. Then 
dessert — a pine, or hot-house grape?, or some trifle of that sort. 
The whole to conclude with a bottle or two of old Whiffles' Madeira 
— I mean. Whiffles' old Madeira — and — I'm satisfied. 

Mrs. W. {aside). Moderate creature: (aloud) Well but 

Brown. Not a word more, I beg. I'll just tell my rascal that I 
shan't want the carriage to-day, and be back again immediately. 
[going) My compliments to Whiffles, and the sooner he puts the 
champagne in ice the better. ( looking at his watch) Dear me ! half 
past twelve. I ought to have been at home to receive the Marquis 
of Guzzleton. Ha ! ha ! Considering this is the third time that 
Guzzleton has solicited an interview, he'll be rather annoyed. Never 
mind — hang Guzzy ! Guzzy must wait! Ladies, au revoir ! [Exit. 

Mrs. W. Here's a pretty piece of business! Whiffles ! Mr. Whif- 
fles! 

Whip? r.ES appears with a carpet broom. 

Whip. Is lie gone ? 

Mrs. W. Yes. 

Whip. That's lucky. 

Mrs. W. No, it isn't ; for he's only gone to tell his rascal he 
shan t want the carriage to-day,and say a lew words to Guzzv 

Whip. Who's Guzzy ! 

Mas. W. The Marquis of Guzzleton. — & friend of Mr. Brown- 
john's. And what do you think he's going to do next? 

Whip. I haven't an idea. 

Mrs. W. Why, he's coming back to dine with us. Lud a mercy ! 
I shouldn't wonder if ho brought Guzzy with him. 

Whip. Dine with us 7 Pooh ! it can't be— A mustn't be! Didn't 
you say s > ? 

.Mrs. W. I tried, but I couldn't ; he wouldn't let me get a word 
in edgeways. 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



Whif. Then all I can say is, he'll get no dinner here, or Guzzy 
either. The larder's a desert. 

Mrs. W. How can you say so 1 I'm sure there's a very nice 
piece of cold roast beef. 

Whif. So there is — baked last Sunday. Let me see. We can 
have it hashed, boiled, stewed, and cold— that'll be four dishes. 

Mrs. W. Pooh ! Mr. Brownjohn expects soup. By the by, I 
could manage a little soup — but he wants fish, game, hot-house 
grapes, iced champagne, and Madeira. 

Whif. Does he 1 I wish he may get 'em. If he had put his 
visit off till next week, we might have managed ; I should have 
received my quarter's pension ; but now, in the present state of 
finances, one such meal as you talk about, and 1 go into the Ga- 
zette. 

Mrs. W. Then what's to be done ? Toby, let's set the kitchen 
chimney on fire. 

Whif. A very good plan, only we should have to pay for putting 
it out again. No, no ; 1 have it ! a capital idea ! Let's all go to 
bed and have leeches on — won't that do ? 

Mrs. W. Then all I can say is, when Mr. Brownjohn comes, ex- 
posure must follow, for he'll immediately find us out, depend upon 
it. 



TWO IN THE MOENING. 

From Charles Matthew's Farce of •* A Bachelor's Bed-room." 

CHARACTERS. 

Mr. Newpenny, a Bachelor. 
A Stranger. 

Time — The present period. 

Scene. — A bachelor's bed-room ; in centre of flat a roindow ; a bed with 
curtains ; fireplace ; tongs, belloivs, table, aryi-chair, and the ordi- 
nary furniture of a bed-room. T%oo candles on table and snuffers. 

[Mr. Newpenny, a nervous bachelor, having retired to rest, is awakened by 
a violent rapping on the other side of the way. After vainly endeavoring to 
continue his slumbers amid the noise, he expostulates fruitlessly, and finally, 
as a desperate resort, invites the locked-out gentleman to ascend into his own 
chamber and there rest until daylight.] 

A Stranger enters door hastily, passing before Newpenny who is near 
the door, lie appears tvet and muddy — a cigar in his mouth and a 
dripping umbrella in his hand — he comes down. 

Stranger. Thank you. Here's your latch-key. 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 81 



Newpenny. Key ! I lent you a key, and you return me a cork- 
screw. 

Stran. I can't compliment you on your staircase ; it's steep as 
a ladder and as dark as' pitch. 

New. Why, you see, not expecting visitors at this hour, the 
lamp was ou . (seeing that the door is left open) Have you any one 
else with you ' [the Stranger shakes the rain of his hat, and puts it 
down with his umbrella on a cliair — Newpknny instantly removes them) 
You've left the door open ; I'm sure you're not aware of it, but — 
deuce take him. {seeing that the other roes not attend, puts lite candle 
on the table, and shuts the door, during which time the Stranger goes 
to the window and throws it open.) 

Stran. Exactly opposite ! — my own window, I declare — there it- 
is. sure enough, (walks away from it and paces the stage.) 

New. (shutting the window after him). Ah ! you live on the second 
floor opposite, do you ? Hollo ! why you're smoking, and I've a 
particular objection 

Stran. xVm I? — I didn't know it. (puts his cigar mi the mantel- 
piece. ) 

New. They didn't expect you home to-night, it seems ? 

Stran. (to himself). It's very extraordinary. 

New. What is it 1 

Stran. What has just occurred. 

New. Oh ! my asking you up ( Why, as you say, it was an odd 
tiling to do — but 

Stran. {without hearing him). Not to open the door — my own 
door! Do you think, sir, they heard me knock 1 

New. Do I think! Oh, my gracious ! You don't really ask me 
such a question seriously. 

Stran. Then it must have been done on purpose. They must 
have bribed Richards to leave me out in the street, and on such a 
night, too— a devil of a night — a plot ; don't you think it so your- 
self, sir 1 

New. Why, if you ask me my opinion 

Stran. In a pouring rain — I'm drenched to the skin. 

New. ( perceiving that the Stranger is wet through and is inundat- 
ing the carpet). Oh, my goodness ! Why. my dear sir, you must be 
soaked through and through ! [goes and fetches a towel.) 

Stran. ( to himself). Shut me out of my own house at two in the 
morning! (Newpenny follows him about, sopping the wet after hi > a) 
They guessed it was me. They must have known my voice, (sees 
Newpenny] Hallo ! what on earth are you about? 

New. (follows his trace with the towel). Nothing — nothing — only 
I'm rather particular about my floor, and you're dripping like a 
water- spout. 

Stran. So would you if you'd been ah hour under one. (squeezes 
tlie water out of his coal-tails.) 



82 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



New. {sopping it up). Oh, my gracious! he was an earthquake 
just now — now he's a deluge. 

Stran. What a fidgetty little fellow this is. (going up.) 

New. Oh ! it's no use. I give it up — there ! {throws away the 
towel, during which time the stranger seems to reflect.) 

Stran. Dark as pitch; no one stirring — that's quite clear. 

New. Tou see, sir, I'm getting a bit of fire in again, for you. 

Stran. You're quite right. And yet, generally, a feather would 
wake her — what can it mean ? (walks to and fro.) 

New. If he's going to stamp up and down all night, in this way, 
he'll be an agreeable companion. Sir ! sir ! 

Stran. What's the matter ? 

New. Wouldn't you like to rest yourself a little ? You see here 
is a capital fire now; and as it is just half-past two, by my watch 
— {yawns.) 

Stran. Don't yawn ! 

New. I won't — but it strikes me we might begin to think about 
going to sleep. Eh ! what do you think ? {blows the fire.) 

Stran. (talks to himself and takes off his coat.) Sleep, indeed? ah! 
(throwing the coat on the bed) I wish I could sleep, (tries to pull off his 
hoots by the help of a chair) It's easy enough to talk cf sleep — they 
stick like wax ! (throws down the bedclothes as if going to bed) You 
don't happen to have such a thing as a boot-jack. sir. do you ? 

New. Eh! hallo ! what's he about ] (runs to him) You'll excuse 
me. sir ; but there's one thing r m rather particular about, and that 
is, sleeping alone— I always sleep alone. 

Stran. Oh ! What, you've only one bed then 1 

New. Only one ! 1 dare say you think I am very meanly fur- 
nished ; but you know you are not compelled to stay here if you 
don't like it. " I wish now I could get rid of him. 

Strax. (on side of bed). To shut trie door against me in a pouring 
rain. 

New. Come, sir, there's an arm-chair at your service, close to the 
fire, and you can sleep there very comfortably — or not, just as you 
please. 

Stran. (trying the arm-chair . Ay. ay ; any thing will do for me. 

New (arranging his pillow). Good night, then— or rather good 
morning — for it's almost — (yawns. ) 

Stran. Oh ! for heaven's sake, don't yawn. If there's anything 
1 hate in the world 

New. Well, upon my soul, that's a good one. I mustn't yawn 
in ray own bed-room, now ! (sits on the side of the bed— jumps up 
again) Hallo ! {perceiving coat) Oh. my gracious ! if he hasn't put his 
nasty wet coat on the bed (throws it on a chair.) 

Stran. Ugh ! how wretchedly cold I am, to be sure ! I say, sir, 
have you anything I could throw over my shoulders. 

New. (behind the curtain — affects not to hear) Good night, sir, good 
night. 



AMATEUK AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 83 



.Strax. Oh ! here is a jacket ! 

New. Stop, stop! I beg your pardon— it's impossible — you 
cannot get it on— it is a,new jacket for my little nephew — to-mor- 
row is his birth-day — and you will burst the seams ! 

Strax. Oh, no ! I am very thin. 

New. Why not put on your own coat ? 

Strax. ;t is soaked through — you have no idea how wet it is. 

New. On, yes I have — but you can't get the boy's jacket on, I 
tell you. 

Strax. No 7 (puts it on) What do you say to that 7 

New. Oh, my gracious ! (Straxger sits down, Oh, what a man! 
— well, dou't cross your arms, then, or you will certainly split it — 
you mast be very careful, or 

Strax. That infernal Richards, too — he must have hear 1 mo 
knock. 

New. I give it up. (going brrcl: to bed) Oh, dear ! oh, dear, what 
a fool I have been. Never mind ! catch me asking any one up 
again— that's all. Oh ! I'm chilled to the bone ; I'll pop into bed, 
dressing-gown and al], and s?3 if I can't get a little warmth into 
me. {gets into bed: Have the kindness to put out the candle, sir, 
if you please; I can't sleep in a blaze of light, (a moment's silence.) 

Strax. You're a bachelor, I suppose. 

New. Yes, yes — good night. 

Strax. A bachelor ! What a charm there is in that single word. 
Bachelor! f e?dom — independence — tranquillity — no troubles — no 
cares — no anxieties. Bachelor ! humph ! his sleep is sweet and 
undisturbed 

New. Is it 1 

Strax. Bachelor! (rises) bachelor! (tramps up and down.) 

New {sitting up . My dear sir ! if you could make it convenient 
to leave off tramping up and down the room in that manner, I 
should esteem it a favor — these small houses are so slight that 
every step shakes me in my bed—besides, you'll wake the lady un- 
derneath — she only came to lodge here yesterday — and she'll think 
there's a wild beast over her. 

Strax. You're right — you're right. I didn't know I was doing 
so. AViiut a fidgetty liltle frump it is — there, (bangs the chair down- 
on the floor) There, I'll sit quietly down and then I suppose I'll of- 
fend oobody. {sits and rocks the chair.) 

New. Now he's knocking the furniture about. Oh, what a man ! 
Do pray be quiet, sir. Doucp take it — I wish now 1 had left you 
where you were, i asked you up to stop your noise, and much, I 
see, I've gained by it. [knocking heard against the floor from under- 
neath) There, I thought so— there's the lady on the first floor, 
knocking for us to be quiet. Come, do let us go to sleep ! it really 
is high time. 

Strax. (lights cigar — goes to window and throws it up). Aye, aye. 
Jhere it is— my very own window— there's no disguising that fact. 



84 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS 



New. (sneezing). I cannot get warm again, do what I will. My 
bed's like ice. 

Stran. (at window). Here will I take up my station for the night 
— they cannot escape me so. 

New. (not seeing him). Sir, will you be kind enough to throw 
something over me. (Stranger puts his wet coat over him. Newpenny 
shouts "No, no! " and throws it off) I'm very much afraid I've 
caught cold, for I'm shivering in a way that — sir.- Hallo ! Where 
is he \ {Jeans out of the bed and sees him at the wit w) Why you've 
got the window open ! 

Stran. What do you say ? (quietly.) 

New. I say shut that window, sir. 

Stran. It's for the smoke. 

New. You're giving me cold. 

Stran. Your chimney smokes, I tell you. 

New. No such thing (coughs) and yet — why it's yourself— you've 
lighted your cigar again. 

Stran. There — I've thrown it out of the window, (throws out the 
cigar. ) 

New. (kneeling in bed ). Will you shut the window or will you not 1 

SrRAN. (shuts it). There, there — don't put yourself in a passion 
— from the moment you say it's unpleasant — that's enough for — 
anything for a quiet life. 

New. A quiet life, indeed ! 

Stran. You've surely a right to do as you like in your own 
room, and make yourself comfortable. 

New. Very comfortable. 

Stran. Particularly after the hospitality you've shown me . 

New. Yes, it was a happy hit I made. 

Stran. There's nothing in the world I wouldn't do to please you, 
and show you that your civility has not heen extended to 

New. Yes — very well — I'm satisfied. There, I'm going to sleep. 
He '11 chatter for a week. 

Stran. {seating himself in the arm-chair and whistles). Have you 
been long in this neighborhood, sir 1 (Newpenny turns in bed to 
avoid answering. Louder) I was inquiring, sir, whether you had lived 
long in this neighborhood. 

New. Yes, yes, I have. 

Stran. You have ] (jumps up) He has ! then he must know all 
the people in it What if 1 — yes 1 will ! (goes to the head of the bed 
and pulls open the curtains) Then you must know all the people in it 
— only imagine then — (strikes the bed-post violently with his hand) — 
for I'll tell you all, sir ; it will ease my bursting heart, and you'll 
be able to advise me — only imagine, then-, I say — (strikes hed-post 
again ) 

New. Stop ! 

Stran. What's the matter 1 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 85 



New. Stop — I won't keep you a moment — I'll get up and listen 
—I prefer it. 

Stran. Oh, no, don't disturb yourself. 

New. No, I won't, but I prefer getting up. 

Stran. Oh, if you prefer it, that's another thing, {walks to the 
fire.) 

New. Yes, it's much better. Oh, my gracious, what a man ! 
(gutting on his slippers.) 

Stran. Don't hurry — don't hurry on my account — I'm getting a 
little warm now. {stands with his back to the fire.) 

New. {behind curtain — sneezes). What a man ! There, (comes out) 
if I must hear a story, I may as well hear it by the fireside com- 
fortably, and as there seems no chance of my getting a wink of 
sleep to-night, {looking for his cap, etc. ) T shall be better so — much 
better so — where's my cap 1 {faking it from Stranger's head) There, 
now, then, for your story — let's see — where were you ? (yawns and 
sits at table, the Stranger seated by the fire) 

Stran. Don't yawn ! I'm afraid you're too sleepy to follow me. 

New Not a bit! I'm wide awake! very odd if I wasn't! I'm 
as lively as a grig — so, as you were saying 

St ran. Well, then, as I was saying — {takes the other candle me- 
chanically from the table, lights it at the other on the table, and places 
them together as he speaks) I'd give a hundred pounds if it was but 
daylight. 

New. Don't mention it ; so would I. (takes the snuffers and puts 
the candle out again.) 



A MAN'S DOUBLE. 

From Hubert Lille's Farce of "As Like as Two Peas." 

CHARACTERS. 

Mr. Richards, a Lawyer. 
Mrs. Richards. 
Mrs. Pritchards. 

Time — Present day. 

Scene. — A room or study in Richards' house, handsomely furnished. 
Door in the back. Bureau ivith papers. An arm-chair, sofa, etc. 

[This very ingenious farce, from which has been selected the following 
scene, is based upon the misrepresentation of a lawyer who, unknown to his 
wife, has indulged in a career of flash life in London. She accidentally is in- 
formed of his vagaries, of his visits to Vauxhall, Cremorne, Casino and other 
dancing saloons, the resort of not over reputable characters. All these ru- 
mors she discredits until her servant innocently relates to her a current re- 
port as to her husband's being seen at the masquerade, where, disguised as a 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



Sailor, he executes a hornpipe. When taxed by his wife for his reputed inde- 
cencies the lawyer laughs at the idea of a member of the Middle Temple being 
seen at such places, much less of his dancing a hornpipe. To account for the 
Currency of such derogatory reports, Richards convinces her that an individ- 
ual, his exact double, is the being who, in reality, indulges in all that had 
been popularly attributed to him. Thoroughly satisfied with this explana- 
tion, Mrs. Richards has left the study upon a misconception that a lady de- 
sires to see her.] 

Richards discovered alone. 

Richards. Poor soul ! how I have blinded her ! And what a 
brilliant idea — worthy of Mephistopheles himself, and so very or- 
iginal. No one but a barrister could have ever dreamt of creating 
another self— a double — a phantasmagoria ! That will now exist 
only in the brain of my little wife, bat won't I profit by it ? I 
shall no longer dread being recognized at the Casino, Vauxhall, 
Cremorne. I can always say, " It was that confounded fellow 
again, my dear," then if she should add, " Henry, you know you 
were out late that very evening !" then I can rejoin with, " Of 
course I was ! how could I be at home when I was retained in 
that important consultation in Lumley and Gye V Ha, ha! but 
what a scamp I am ! Mr. Richards, you're a scoundrel, and you 
ought to indict yourself at the Old Bailey, and sentence yourself 
to six months' hard labor. But Mr. Richards is weak, Mr. Rich- 
ards is susceptible, and he can't help it ; and he is also ashamed to 
confess that he is very much fascinated with a certain widow, who 
thinks Mr. Richards is a single gentleman, and so invites him to a 
picnic at Richmond, and Mr. Richards can go now, and in per- 
fect safety, because if he is detected and is accused of being with 
a pic-nic at a widow — no, I mean with a widow at a pic-nic — no, 
I mean a widow at a pic-nic — he can say, " That's that confound- 
ed fellow again! — what is to be done 7" Oh, what a splendid 
idea ! and what a clever fellow I am to have hit upon such a one ! 
I can now go anywhere ! [Exit. 

Enter Mrs. Pritchaeds with Mrs. Richards. 

Mrs. R. My husband will be here in a moment — pray be seated. 
Heavens ! what do I see ? — Fanny Jones ? 

Mks P. Ellen Smith, my schoolfellow ! Ellen Smith, you here 1 

Mrs. R. Oh, I am at home. Let me present you to Mrs. Rich- 
ards, wife of Mr. Richards, of the Middle Temple. 

Mrs. P. The wife of the eminent barrister I have been advised 
to lay my case before — how delightful '\ 

Mrs. R. Sit down, sit down, and tell me all about yourself. 

Mrs. P. (sits). Oh, my dear, mine is a melancholy story ! In the 
first place, you must know I've been been married, 

Mks. R. Been married 1 Then are you a widow 1 



AMATEUR AXD PAELOR THEATRICALS. 87 



Mrs. P. Alas, no ! not so fortunate. I married a young man, 
my clear — an army contractor. The first six or eight months went 
off pleasantly enough, till Mr. Pritchards, ray husband, took it in- 
to his head to enter into a- contaact to supply the army of some 
Hospodar or some queer place, with arms. From that moment 
he became another creature, and I discovered, instead of having 
to manage a quiet, respectable man of business, that I was linked 
to a hybird husband — three parts dragoon, one half rifleman, with 
a touch of the aallant 42 1 in him. 

Mits- R. I love the army. I wish my husband had a millitary 
taste ; but, by his fancy for hornpipes, he seems more inclined for 
the navy. 

Mrs. P. Don't wish such a thing, my dear. Think of having 
your carpers torn with spurs — think of smoking in your drawing 
room. 1 have to endure all this, and when I expostulate witli him 
for turning the house into a barr ick room, when — what do you 
think? — he puts me under arrest, as he calls it, for sixteen days. 

Mrs. R Under arrest ? — lock you up '\ 

Mrs. P. Yes, and puts the key in his pocket ; so I've deserted, 
as he calls it. I am here to ask Mr. Richards if it's not possible to 
get a divorce or a separation. 

Mrs. R. You do not suriously contemplate such a step? 

Mrs. P. Arid why not. pray ? 1 am sure 1 am miserable as T am 
— I can't £0 about telling people of my misfortunes, so let them 
believe I am a widow, consequently I find I have many admirers, 
and one in particular, a certain Mr. De Dunstanville (there's a 
name for you !) much better than Pritchards — he's particularly 
struck, and commits all sorts of extravagances. 

Mrs. R Of what description, my dear? 

Mrs. P. Why, yesterday, nothing would satisfy him short of 
taking away my ring. You know it — the little turquoise I had at 
school ! 

Mrs. R. Indeed! And you allowed the larceny? 

M ss. P. Allowed? — he never asked my permission ! But let us 
change the subject ; 1 don't wish to bore you with my affairs. Are 
you happy 1 

Mi 3. \l [ndeed T am. Air. Richards is everything I could wish 

— amiable, good-tempered, domestic — yes. very domestic. He 

never goes anywhere except when business obliges him. and then 

►pa v."\ late . but then he has a great deal of business — 

what he calls an extensive practice. 

Mrs. P. Here he is. [they rise. ) 

Enter Richards, dressed, 

Mrs. R. Henry, let me introduce you to an old friend and 
school-fellow. 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



Rich, (crosses). I am charmed to make your acquaintance, mad- 
am, (recognizing her — aside) Heavens ! — the widow ! 
Mrs. P. (recognizing him). Mr. De Dunstanville ! 
Mrs. R. Mr. De— who 1 
Rich. Mr. De— who ? 

Mrs. P. I've certainly had the pleasure of meeting you before. 
Rich. No doubt — in court, with my wig on. 
Mrs. P. And you certainly have had the pleasure of meeting 

Rich. Where % 

Mrs. P. Where? Why, on Friday last, at Mrs. Ginger's, the 
dansante. 

Mrs. R. At Mrs, Ginger's, the dansante? 

Rich. Me at Mrs. Ginger's, the dansante ? I don't know such 
a person, and I wouldn't go to such a place. 

Mrs. R. The dansante — on Friday 1 Why, that was the night 
you were so late at your chambers in the cause of 

Rich. Dilberry versus Simggs — of couse. Besides, my dear 
madam, if I had the pleasure of meeting you before, believe me it 
would have been a pleasure that I could never have forgotten. No, 
my lord — I beg pardon — I was thinking you were the judge. 

Mrs. P. I know who's the criminal. 

Mrs. R. I see how it is — Fanny must have met that person so 
like you. 

Rich. That's it I Now isn't it dreadful — isn't it past bearing ? 

Mrs. R. Fanny dear, there is a man going about, so like my 
Richards, that everybody takes him for my husband, and I am com- 
pelled to hear of all sorts of extravagance supposed to be commit- 
ted by him, Mr. Richards, when the real culprit has been this per- 
son. 

Mrs. P. Indeed ! 

Rich. Fact, I assure you. I live in daily dread of his coming 
here some day, and my wife taking him for me — it might be very 
serious. 

Mrs. P. And so very like ? 

Rich. Bless you, as like as two peas ! 

Mrs. P. Then he must have the same hair, same eyes, same 
voice. 

Rich. There — even the voice ! It's disgusting, isn't it? What 
did you say the fellow's name was ? 

Mrs. P. De Dunstanville. 

Rich. What a name! Now we'll dismiss the subject. You wish 
to consult me ? 

Mrs. R. Respecting a contemplated separation from my hus- 
band. 

Rich. Husband ! Oh, then, you're not a widow 1 

Mrs. R. My dear, what made you suppose she was 1 



AMATEUR AXD PARLOR THEATRICALS. 89 



Rich. Oh, nothing; only — only she looks like one. Well, mad- 
am, your case ? 

Mrs. P. I'm afraid that my husband— his name is Pritchards — 
is not exactly right here, [touching her forehead.) 

Rich. A case of Lunatico Inquirmdo. Well 7 

Mrs. P. But I've written out a statement of my position, that 
you might look over at your leisure, and give me your opinion. 
[produces paper and hands it to Richards.) 

Rich, [taking it). Certainly. 

Mrs. P. {aside). It is he — my turquoise ring on his very finger! 

Rich. Cab's at the door. 

Mrs. R Calf Henry — are you going so soon 1 

Rich. To my chambers, my dear, (places the statement on table) I 
have two or three attorneys to meet, {crosses— aside) I don't like to 
leave them together, (aloud) Give me my Talma. If you are going 
up to Oxford street or the Edgeware Road, I can put you down on 
my way to the Temple. 

Mrs. R. Fanny will stay a little while with me — we have a great 
deal to talk about. 

Rich. I shall get back as soon as possible, dear, (to Mrs. Pritch- 
ards) Then you're not going my way ? 

Mrs. P. No, sir. I should hope not. 

Rich. Very well, (aside) I don't much like leaving them togeth- 
er, (aloud) Then I'll look over your case, certainly, on my return, 
and give you my opinion when I see you again. Good morning. 
Good by, dear. 

Mrs. R Good by. 

Mrs. P. Good morning, Mr. De Dun — I mean Richards. 

Rich. Good morning. [Exit Richards. 

Mrs. R. Well, Fanny, what do you think of my husband, Mr. 
Richards ? 

Mrs. P. Do you care about being made unhappy 7 

R. I miijht care about it — but I think you would find some 
difficulty in making me so. 

Mas. P. Then 1 shall not attempt it. 

Mag. R. U" you were to try, what would you do? 

Mas. P. Don't ask me — as you are happy, it would be cruel to 
disturb you;- felicity. 

Mrs. R. Do you know of anything that could do so. 

Mrs. P. Perhaps 1 do, perhaps! don't — and prefer to remain 
silent. 

Mas. R You excite my curiosity, and then refuse to gratify it. 

Mas. P. B k cause the gratification might destroy your peace. 

Mks. It, What is it you would or could tell mel 

Mas. P. Don't ask me. 

Mrs. R. 1 shall not rest till you tell me — I insist upon being 
made unhappy. What is it 1 



90 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



Mrs. P. Promise me not to be too wretched if I tell you. 

Mrs. R. I won't mind it at all — well 1 

Mrs. P. Well — your husband 

Mrs. R. I thought it was about him. 

Mrs. P. Deceives you, and has deceived me. 

Mrs. R. You ! In what way 1 

Mrs. P. He is that Mr. De Dunstanville, and passes himself off 
as a single man. 

Mrs. R. I will not believe it. 

Mrs. P. I can prove it to you. 

Mrs. R. Ah ! in what way % 

Mrs. P. The ring that I told you M. De D. took % from me, I dis- 
covered on your husband's finger. 

Mrs. R. The turquoise ? 

Mrs. P. The very same. 

Mrs. R. I won't believe it, but come to my room, Fanny — you 
are sure that Mr. De Dunstanville and Mr. Richards are one and 
the same person ? 

Mrs. P. Positive. 

Mrs. R. Then I'll be revenged — come to my room, dear, and let 
us concoct a plan of vengeance ; it will be hard, if we injured wo- 
men cannot hit upon something to punish a delinquent husband. 



A TIGKEB AND HIS OWN MAID. 

From Charles Dance's Farce of " The Unfinished Gentleman.*'' 

CHARACTERS. 

James Miller, a Gentleman's Tiger. 
Mary Chintz, a Lady's own Maid. 

Time — Present period. 

Scene. — A Drawing-room handsomely furnished with boohs, guitar, 
flhioers, etc. 

Chintz discovered looking out of a window. 

Chintz. Past three o'clock!— I know I shall be disappointed 
again ; this is the second time my Jem will have come to lake me 
in his master's cab to the Zoological Gardens— I'm certain I shan't 
be able to go— how provoking ! [looking out at window) There's the 
cab, and there's my Jem ! — he'll be so disappointed — I must make 
signs to him. (shakes her head, etc.) I can't come — missis hasn't come 
home ; wait a bit— 1 shall get in a passion presently. Well ! if he 
hasn't got a boy to hold the horse ! He's getting out— oh, my 



AMATEUR AXD PARLOR THEATRICALS. 91 



gracious ! he has got his master's clothes on, what a shame ! {laughs) 
Oh, goodness me ! if he hasn't stuck a pair of mustarchers ! — what 
a fright he does look ! he's cowing in — I must run clown and send 
him away, (going) Why, hang his impudence! if he isn't coming 
up stairs ! What will Miss Bioomfield say \ 

Jem Miller, dressed in the extreme of modem fashion, with large 
hu.'taschios. 

Jem. How are you. my angelic angel 7 Here I am all right and 
regular — couldn't make out your dumb talk, so bolted up to Eluci- 
date the particulars. What is the row, eh \ — explained votfst. 

Chintz. Jem you ought to be ashamed of yourself, to come up 
here: if Miss Bioomfield were to see yon, I should never hear the 
last of it. (looking at him and laughing) Where did you get those 
mustarehers ? — you look just like Lord Fitznoodle. 

Jem. You do me proud! — parole eVhonnear ; dem'd if you don't! 
Why, you see, as we were going to give masters cab a benefit. I 
determined to do the thing in style; so I borrowed a suit of his 
toggery — established a pair of Jailers, and here I am, a finished 
landscape of a gentleman, all ready for the Zoological Gardens. 

Chintz looking at him and t>* round). Yes. I think you 

are. h' once you go there, you'll never get out a^ain — you'll be 
pat in a cage as a specimen of the hoorang hootangs. 

Jem. Come, I say ; don't you cast any ^flections ; take care you 
are not caught for a mermaid, or some other queer fish — but. I 
say, what's the matter 1 what did you mean by [imitating her action) 
■ ca ? 

Chintz. Why. to tell you I couldn't get out : Miss Bioomfield is 
to be married to-morrow, and I suppose has been detained by the 
m 1 liner, about her dress. I can't go out until she returns home, 
so I'm afraid we shall be disappointed again. 

Jem. What a dem'd bon* ! Exterminate the milliner! Missis 
going to be married, eh ? Who is the Mart — the infant trouve ? as 
the French 

Chintz. Lord Totterly. 

.] e m . ( at I i i >rd Tot ter ly ! 

Cora - lo you know him 1 

Jem. Yes — thai is, I have heard of him. (aside) What a piece of 
news for my master ! Lord Totterly, eh ? 

Chintz. Yes, he's the bridegroom — to-morrow they are to be 
married. 

Jem. (aside). The devil You don't say so. 

Chintz. I do. But I'm sure she won't be happy, for his lordship 
iore than sixty years of age, and is such a silly old fool — quite 
valetudinaries and he 

ising). You don't say BO. 

Chntz. I do. lie's old enough to be her grandfather. 



92 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



Jem. The more fool she, then, to marry him. 

Chintz. Why, you see, Jem, she does it for the sake of his money. 

Jem. How dem'd platological — how excessively surreptitious! 

Chintz. His lordship is rich, and missis's father has just lost all 
his property by the breaking up of a bank. 

Jem. Ah ! a savings bank, I suppose. I lost two pound ten and 
four pence in the same way — the treasurer evaporated. 

Chintz. And it is to save her father from a prison, that she is 
going to marry the old lord. 

Jem. How maternal ! how exquisitely mythological ! 

Chintz. It is, indeed. Jem ; I pity her — I do, really, for I know 
she is breaking her heart for a young man she was promised to, in 
the country. 

Jem. Promised to a young man in the country ! — You don't say 
so ! 

Chintz. I do. What a dreadful thing it is to be poor ! — isn't it, 
Jem! 

Jem. Excruciating ! — that's what keeps us from being connuberal, 
isn't it, Polly 1 

Chintz. It is indeed, Jem — I wish we could get a prize in the 
lottery, or something. 

Jem. Ah, I wish we could ! — then we'd get married, take a gin 
shop — I mean a wine vaults, and be respectable licensed victuallers, 
Good-by, Polly, I must go — good-by ! 

Chintz. Good-bye ! What, are you going, Jem 1 d^c't you rueaa 
to take me to the Zoological Gardens 1 

Jem. Why you see it's very late — and master may want the cab, 
so I must go. {aside)! must tell him the news about the old gentle- 
man, {aloud) Good-by, Polly — good-by — {trying to lass her) — just 
one! 

Chintz. No, Jem, it ain't proper. 

Jem {going). Oh, very well. 

Chintz. But if you insist upon it, and will take o£f your mustar- 
chers, why 

Jem. Certainment, oui ! (taking off must achios) There now — {kisses 
}i er ) — good-by ! good-by ! — we mu.-st be licensed victuallers ! [Exit. 

Chintz. What a dear fellow ! I love him more and more, every 
time 1 see hitn. Oh, dear ! what a dreadful thing i£ is to be oblig- 
ed to keep single, when one wants to be married. 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



AN INVENTIVE GENIUS. 

From J. E. Planclie's Farce of " The Captain of the Watch." 

CHARACTERS. 

Viscount de Light, Captain of the Watch. 
Baron Vonderpotter, a Flemish Soble. 

Time and Place — Brussels during the reign of Louis XIV. of France. 

Scene. — A garden ivith wall at back, in which is a door opening upon 
the street. 

[The following scene, admirably paraphrased by Mr. Planche, from the 
French comedy, Le Chevalier du Guet, affords ample scope for the display of 
histrionic tact, as the characters are redolent with humor of a quiet, yet tell- 
ing nature. The absurd and indomitable impudence of the Viscount is ren- 
dered the more ridiculous through the weak credulity of the Baron, who rap- 
turously drinks in the incredibLe inventions of the captain, while uncon- 
sciously affording him points wherewith to render his romance plausible. To 
understand the scene perfectly a slight knowledge of antecedent matters is 
necessary. The Baron had made an excuse to his niece of having been called 
to visit the governor. The young lady took advantage of his absence to ap- 
point a clandestine meeting with her lover in the garden and, for that pur- 
pose, had left the door unlocked. The Baron in reality had gone to visit a 
noble lady whom he admired, but was denied admission to her house. The 
marchioness was, at the moment of his visit, enjoying the company of the 
captain of the watch, who, to avoid exposure of her reputation, escaped from 
a second story window, when being seen by his own men took to flight in an- 
ticipation of arrest.] 

The door is opened suddenly, and the Captain of the Watch enters. 

Captain. Lucky chance, a gate on the latch ; r sdeath, if they 
had caught me ! The captain of the watch arrested #y the watch; 
a pleasant anecdote for the gossips of Brussels. Ha ! ha ! I can't 
help laughing at the notion myself, upon my soul. It was almost 
a pity to spoil so good a joke. But, then, my office, and what's 
more, my salary, would be in jeopardy. Besides, the fair Mar- 
chioness ! my capture might have compromised her. Who the 
deuce is my rival, 1 wonder ■ I should like to kno*v the gentle- 
man whose unexpected visit compelled me, for the lady's sake, to 
risk my neck by jumping from a second floor window, and my 
reputation by a scuffle with my own unconscious satellites. Is 
he a younu man whose impetuous spirits she dreads, or an old one, 
whose wealthy purse she has designs on 1 I suspect the latter, by 
some hints she dropped. Young or old, however, whoever he is, 
his arrival was confounded malapropos. How the plague am I 



94 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



to get home without discovery 1 my fellows are on the qui vive at 
both ends of the street. I must take my chance of lying close 
here till they give up the chase. 

The Baron opms the garden gate and enters, unheard by Captain. 

Baron (aside, as he enters). How's this ? the gate on the latch f 
That careless Katryn, when I particularly ordered her to lock it 
after me ! She shall hear of this, and soundly ; I am just in the 
temper to fall foul of anybody. The Marchioness ill — gone to bed 
— not to be seen — provoking ! 

Capt. {aside). Where can I have got to ? The night is so dark, 
and I was so confoundedly hard pressed, that I'll be hanged if I 
know even the street. There are trees here ; it must be some gar- 
den to a detached house, {feeling about.) 

Bar. {aside). Eh ! Don't I hear somebody moving about 1 (ad- 
vances and runs against Captain) Hollo ! Who's there 1 

Capt. (aside) Zounds ! 

Bar. Who's there ] Speak, or I'll run you through the body ! 

Capt. (aside, and drawing). The devil you will ! (aloud) Don't be 
alarmed, it's only a friend. 

Bar. A friend ! What friend'? Whose friend 1 

Capt. Everybody's, a friend of the human race. Don't make a 
noise. 

Bar. Don't make a noise ! I will make a noise, if you don't 
immediately declare 

Capt. I declare I won't do anything, if you make a disturbance. 
I give you fair notice that my sword is drawn, and you may run 
against it in the dark. Just let me find the way out, and 

Bar. Out, sir ! you don't budge a foot till L know who you are, 
and what business you have in my garden at this hour ! 

Capt. In your garden ] Adzooks ! the master of the house ! 
Ten thousand pardons, whoever you are, and accept my most 
grateful thanks for the protection your hospitable walls have af- 
forded me. 

Bar. Confound your politeness, sir ! . Answer my question, or I 
will call the watch ; they are in the street. 

Capt. Don't think of such a thing, sir. On the contrary, as you 
are the master of this place, I trust to be still further indebted to 
your generosity. 

Bar. Confound your impudence, sir ! answer me directly, what 
seek you here 1 

Capt. An asylum. I am the victim of circumstances, (aside) I 
must say something, but I'll be hanged if I know what, (aloud) 
Listen, sir, and I will confide to you the fatal secret. That is, as 
soon as my agitation will permit me, (aside) and I can think of one 
that will do. 

J3ar. Proceed, or I'll call the watch. 



AMATEUR AInD PARLOR THEATRICALS. 95 



Capt. Sir, I beseech you to be calm — I have the strongest rea- 
sons for wishing to remain concealed. 

Bar. I've no doubt. . 

Capt. Hear me, sir. I presume I am speaking to a man of honor, 

Bar. I should be glad to presume as much on my part. 

Capt. You shall be satisfied instantly. I am the youngest branch 
of an ancient Flemish family — my name is — [aside) Plague take 
me if I can think of a name ! 

Bar. Well, well. 

Capt. But may I depend upon your secresy 1 

Bar. If you tell me directly, not else. 

Capt. Well, then, my name is Caesar de Cortenberg. 

Bar. De Cortenberg i 

Capt. Yes, sir. I am the last of that noble house : left alone in 
the world. I lived on my patrimonial estate near Tournay. retired 
from the world, occupied only with the care of my garden, culti- 
vating tulips. 

Bar. Rot your tulips ! Tell me at once, what brought you here. 

Capt. I am coming to that, sir, immediately. A letter, a fatal 
letter, reached me, sir. in that peaceful paradise, from my sister. 

Bar. Your sister ! you said you were the last of your family — 
left alone iu the world. 

Capt. {aside). Did I ? {aloud) So I did, sir, and so I am, sir — 
the last male. My sister, sir, my only sister, had taken the veil in 
the Ursuline Conveut, at St. Omer's, so that I was, you see, left 
alone in the world. 

Bar. Well, well, go on. 

Capt. Pardon me, sir, my emotion overcomes me. (aside) I'm at 
a dead lock, I declare ! [aloud) Where was I ! 

Bar. Y^ou had a letter from your sister. 

Capt. All ! yes ! That letter ! that horrible letter ! A wretch 
— a monster in the human shape — an infamous seducer, whose 
name respect for his noble family compels me to suppress, even to 
you, my benefactor. This villain, sir, had lured my unfortunate 
sister from her pious retreat, had carried her oft to this city, and 
then deserted her— left her to perish— Oh, sir ! allow my silent 
tears to flow unchecked. 

Bar. Poop young man, poor young man, this is indeed a sad 
story ! 

Capt. I felt assured you would sympathize with me. 

Bar. I do, I do; but I am still anxious to know 

Capt. How I came into your garden, sir — of course — it is but 
natural you should be— I am coming to that, sir. In the receipt 
of this dreadful information, sir, I immediately set off for Brus- 
sels ; I arrived here this evening, and went straight to the house 
in which my unhappy sister had found a temporary refuse — hav- 
ing obtained entrance, I proceeded up stairs to her chamber — the 
door was fastened — I heard a stifled cry for help ! — I recognizee} 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS 



my sister's voice — I knocked frantically at the door — nobody 
opened it. 

Bar. But you burst it open, of course ? 

Capt. Instantly, {aside) 'Gad, he helps me out! (aloud) With one 
blow of my foot, and rushing in — 1 saw! — Oh, horror — what do 
you think I saw, sir 1 

Rar. Your sister in the power of some ruffian ! 

Capt. Exactly so ! (aside) As well that, as anything else ! {aloud) 
It was he, the infamous destroyer of her honor ; who, fearful of 
exposure, threatened her with death if she did not sign a paper 
acquitting him of all knowledge of her flight, 

Bar. The villian ! — I should have run him through the body on 
the spot. 

Capt. Noble-minded man ! you but anticipate my words — one 
thrust and he lay a bleeding corpse at my feet ! — my sister rushed 
shrieking from the apartment — I followed — found myself in the 
street 

Bar. And then, the watch, I suppose 

Capt. Yes, the watch, alarmed by the cry of murder, came run- 
ning to the spot — I fled — they pursued. In a strange city, not 
knowing whither to bend my steps, I took the first turnings that 
presented themselves, entered this street, found a gate unfastened 
— and now, sir, having made this candid confession, having thrown 
myself upon your honor and generosity, deliver me, if you please, 
into the hands of justice, for having, perhaps, too rashly taken 
upon myself to avenge the ruin of a sister, and the dishonor of a 
noble family ! (aside) Phew ! 

Bar. No ! no, young man, you shall not repent your confidence. 
I have been deeply moved by your story — I pity you sincerely ; 
and will show my sympathy in more than words — my house shall 
be your home while you need such an asylum. 

Capt. Generous man ! 

Bar. I must talk to the Governor on this business. There is 
considerable blame to be attached to the police — they should have 
been cognizant of the arrival of two strangers in this city — should 
have discovered immediately the situation of the parties, and res- 
cued your sister from the grasp of a villain. If I knew the cap- 
tain of the watch, 1 should tell him to his head, he had been guilty 
of gross negligence; as it is, I shall speak to the Governor and 
have him reprimanded — perhaps displaced. 

Capt. How very kind. 

Bar. Wait here a moment. I will just reconnoitre in doors — 
take good heart — time works wonders — your sister may return to 
the convent — her name is — 

Capt. Louise de Valkenberg. 

Bar. De Valkenberg ? you said De Cortenberg ! 

Capt. Yes ! De Cortenberg de Valkenberg, etc., etc., etc. 

Bar. Ah ! I see I Well, just wait here, as I said, one moment, 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 97 



while I see if the coast be clear, (aside) We can't trust women with 
such secrets, (aloud) Don't move from that spot, I'll be back di- 
rectly. [Exit, cautiously. 

Capt. Egad ! the old boy swallows my story capitally. 1 may 
as well pass the night here, now, as anywhere else, and to-morrow 
morning, what shall [ say at home ! Why, give out, of course f 
that I spent the hours in watching over the safety of the sleeping 
inhabitants ! 



MY UNCLE'S FKIENDS. 

From William Brough's Farce of "Number One Around the Corner." 
CHARACTERS. 

AT ' > Fellow Lodgers. 

NOBBLER, 5 

Scene. — A room in a boarding-house, moderately furnished, with two 
doors and a window. 

[This is an excellent specimen of broad humor. Mr. Flipper, a young- man 
dependent upon a wealthy uncle for support, has been disappointed in receiv- 
ing his usual quarterly remittance, as his uncle informs him by letter, where- 
in his relative likewise states that he has left his best coat with a tailor to be 
repaired and has ordered, him to leave it at his nephew's place. In order to 
meet a business appointment the young gentleman, in anticipation of the 
payment of his allowance, has ordered a new pair of boots, for which the 
bootmaker demands cash. While talking- with this mechanic, the lodging- 
house porter deposits a coat belonging to another lodger accidently in Flip- 
per's room. This gentleman searches in vain to find money to pay for his new 
boots, and then hunts for something which he could pawn to raise the desir- 
ed amount.] 

Flipper enter* despondently. 

Flipper. No, not a thing ! Everything I could spare has oone 
to No. 1 round the corner already. Everything always does before 
the quarter's up. [sees coat) What's that I — my uncle's coat come 
home, and I never noticed it ! The very thing ! It will only be 
for a day or two. Fortunately my room opens on to the back stair- 
case — I can Blip out unobserved — and yet my uncle told me to send 
his coat to him directly it arrived. Well, I obey. 1 won't send it 
to my uncle's. I'll do better — I'll take it myself to my uncle's at 
No. 1 round the corner. [Krit. 

Nobbler {outside). ]\\ there 7 Why, young idiot, don't you know 
my coat yet? There. %o about your business — I'll fetch it {knocks) 
\beg your pardon, (enters with meerschaum pipe in his mouth) 1 beg 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



your pardon, sir ; but have you seen — what ! No one here 1 {goes 
to door) I beg your pardon, sir — but have you seen a bright blue 
coat with gilt buttons ? No reply ! — perhaps he's deaf, [knocks and 
shouts) Hi ! sir, have you seen a bright blue coat with gilt buttons 1 
It's very odd ! (opens door) He's not here either ! {looks round) Now 
where the deuce has that fool of a boy put it ] It's no use — I 
must have it. It's not polite, I know, to intrude into other gentle- 
men's bedrooms ; but, when it's a question of bright blue coats 
with gilt buttons, it's no use standing upon ceremony. Here goes ! 
—it must be in here, {puts pipe on mantelpiece, and exit. ) 

Flipper enters. 

Flipper. Confound the fellow ! I've heard of many cruel uncle's, 
but I don't believe there ever was— even including the one in the 
Babes in the Wood — so hard-hearted a relation as that one of mine, 
at No. 1 round the corner. With all I could say, he would not lend 
a farthing more than ten shillings on that coat. That makes only 
fifteen shillings towards the twenty— and the boot-maker waiting 
in the passage ! What's to be done ] If I could only get him to 
allow me something for the old ones — they're not worth much — but 
perhaps he might, as I am a customer — or at least intend to be. 
The idea ! only ten shillings on my uncle's best coat ! {throws pawn- 
broker's ticket indignantly on the table, and exit.) 

Nobbler {enters). No, there's no bright blue coat with gilt but- 
tons there. Oh. if I don't serve out that young rascal, Jim ! Here's 
another room over here ; perhaps he's taken it there. {Exit. 

Flipper [enters with a pair of patent leather boots). Victory, I've 
done it. After no end of persuasions and promises of future pat- 
ronage, I have induced the boot-maker to take the fifteen shillings 
and the old boots in full discharge of his bill. There, these are 
something like a pair of boots ! I'll just brush up myself a little, 
and then start off to my appointment, (puts boots on chair, exits.) 

Nobbler (entering). No; that's nothing but a passage leading to 
the back staircase. There's no bright blue coat with gilt buttons 
there. Oh, Lord ! how chilly I am, standing all this while without 
it ; and I that have had such a cold for the last fortnight, (sneezes) 
Talking of that, who the deuce could it have been that put that 
basin of gruel and spirits of nitre at my door every night 1 I've 
questioned Jim about it— he doesn't know ; and Mrs. Grampus — 
she won't tell. Who on earth is it that takes such a tender interest 
in my health % It can't be the old lady herself that has fallen in 
love with me — no, that's impossible ! Landladies never fall in love 
with lodgers that don't pay ! No ; it must be some gentle creature 
—some guardian angel watching over me. And yet I didn't know 
we had any female lodgers in the house, (sneezes) Oh, Lord ! I wish 
I could find my coat ! How cold it is ! How I am to keep my ap- 
pointment with the Bubble Coffee-house to-day I don't know I I 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 99 



cant go to meet a young man to whom I've promised £5 a week 
in my shirt sleeves, it isn't likely ! What a capital idea that was of 
mine ! I advertised — i: Wanted, a Secretary to a newly established 
Joint Stock Society. Salary, £5 a week. Apply to c X. Y. Z.' 
Ha. ha ! I offer £5 a week ! I that have 1't live shillings in the world ! 
However, one flat nibbled »t the bait, and did apply to " X. X. Z." 
signing himself " A. B. C. ; " I replied, informing him that if he 
was prepared to deposit £20 security (a very small sum. consider- 
ing the salary — I might as well have made it £50) I would meet 
him to settle it at one o'clock to-day. And now I'm to be swindled 
out of that £20, which I had already looked upon as in my own 
pocket, just because I can't find a coat to go in. Hang it ! It 
must be somewhere about here ! (sees ticket on table) What's this ? 
A pawn ticket? {reads) "A bright blue coat with gilt buttons. 1 ' 
Good Heavens! Xo wonder I couldn't find it ! Pawned, actually ! 
Popped as if it were a weazel ! Popped at Xo 1 round the corner! 
And by whom ?- {looks at ticket) " Mr. Flipper.'' So, then, my fellow- 
lodger is in the pickpocket line, I find, (sees Flipper's new boots) 
Hah, and a very good business he must find it, or he couldn't 
afford to wear such boots as these— patent leathers ? A regular 
heavy swell mobsman ! Upon my life, it's too bad — the only coat 
I hal to wpar. Eh! a good thought! why not 1 These are his 
boots. At any rate they're worth ten shillings. He popped my 
coat. Egad ! I'll pop his boots to get it out again. Come along, 
my shiney friends ! We shan't be long ; we're only going — round 
the corner. [Exit. 

Flipper {entering). Now that's all right. I've taking more than 
ordinary pains to make myself look respectable. I know they are 
so paticular in these responsible offices. I think I shall do, at least 
with the addition of the boots, which I contrived to get so nicely. 
Nothing sets a man off so well as a good pair of boots. Eh ! what 
a confounded smell of tobacco ! Surely no one has been smoking 
in my room, {sees pipe) Well, now, upon my word, that's cool! 
That young scoundrel, Jim, has been here with his filthy pipe. A 
meerschaum, too ! The young gentleman does it in style. There, 
that will put his pipe out, I think, (throws it out of window) Now, 
I'll just have some breakfast, Xo I won't, I'll try the boots on 
first and see how they fit me. I hope the fellow hasn't made them 
too big — 1 do hate big boots. Eh ! why ! what the devil ! I could 
have sworn 1 put them here— (looks round.) 

Nobblbb [outside). Was there ever such a swindle ! {entering) I'm 
twopence short. 

Flipper. Sir, may I inquire 

Nobblbb. Oh. you're there, are you ? Well, sir, I tell you I am 
twopence short. 

Flipper. A V ill you allow me to ask 

Nobblbb. Certainly not, sir. Give me the other twopence or I 
shall instantly give you into custody. 



LofC. 



100 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



Flipper. "What do you mean, fellow ? 

Nobbler. Twopence more, or up comes the policeman. 

Flipper. Will you leave the room, sir ? 

Nobbler. No, misguided young man, I will not leave the room 
— at any rate till I get the twopence. 

Flipper. Then, sir, I shall kick you out. {aside) At least, I would 
if I could find my boots, (aloud) What do you want 1 

Nobbler. Twopence, I tell you. Listen ; I went to No. 1 round 
the corner — you know the place — I need not describe it further. 
I threw my boots upon the counter. 

Flipper. Your boots ! what boots 1 

Nobbler. Well, when I say my boots, of course, I mean your 
boots. 

Flipper (collaring him). Scoundrel, you have pawned my boots ! 

Nobbler. Why, of course I have. Didn't you pawn my coat % 

Flippfr. Your coat ? no. 

Nobbler. No ! come, you know that won't do anyhow. I found 
the ticket here myself, " bright blue coat, gilt buttons." 

Flipper. What ! was that your coat 1 

Nobrler. Oh, you didn't know it, of course — thought it was your 
own, no doubt. A very natural mistake, wasn't it 1 

Flipper. Sir. I solemnly protest to you 

Nobbler. There, don't make it worse by trying to deny it. A 
fine young man like you just commencing life— oh, it's too bad ! 
Why didn't you come to me like a man and say — " My good friend, 
1 am short of cash — will you lend me ten shillings 1 " instead of 
turning thief and pawning a fellow's coat. To be sure, if you had 
done so, I hould not have lent it you ; but then ho— much quiet- 
er would be your own conscience ! 

Flipper. But when I tell you 

Nobbler. What's the use in telling me, when I tell you T must 
have the other twopence. 

Flipper. What other twopence 1 

Nobbler. Why, when I threw my boots — that is, your boots — no 
they are my boots ; for didn't I take them in execution for the coat 
you stole 1 

Flipper. Sir! 

Nobbelr. Well, then, we'll say the boots— I threw them on the 
counter; "Ten shillings," says 1. " What? " says our friend at 
No. 1. " Ten shillings," says 1 again. " You must be strangely 
ignorant of the value of these articles," says he. " Not at all," says 
I. " I'll lend you five," says he. " Won't do," says I. " Seven," 
says he. " Ten," says I, and after a deal of bother he consented. 
He handed me the ticket, and I told him I didn't want the money, 
but I'd take a bright blue coat with gilt buttons, pawned this 
morning for ten shillings, instead. " Very well, twopence more," 
says he. " Twopence for what 1 " says I. " For the ticket and the 
interest," says he. " But I haven't got twopence," says I. " Then 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 101 



you can' t have the coat," says he. " Then give me back the boots," 
says 1 ; I'll try them somewhere else." " But there's the ticket 
and the interest for them ! : ' says he. 

Flipper. What, then you got neither ! 

Nobbler. Why, how could I get them when I hadn't got the 
twopence 1 

Flipper. Confound it, sir, you have made me neglect a most 
important appointment — you have pawned the only pair of boots 
I had to wear. 

Nobbler. And you, sir, by stealing the only coat I have in the 
world, have been the cause of my missing an interview of the ut- 
most consequence. 

Flipper. What do you propose, sir % 

Nobbler. Why, that you should instantly furnish me with two- 
pence, and so enable me to get my coat back. 

Flippkr. And where the devil am I to get the ridiculous sum 
you name ? 

Nobbler. Where % Didn't you get ten shillings on the coat you 
so infamously appropriated 1 

Flipper. To be sure I did, and immediately paid it aw T ay for the 
boots you so feloniously abstracted. 

Nobbler. Then you have no money 1 

Flipper. Not a farthing. 

Nobbler. Nor anything else you could take to No. 1 ? 

Flippkr. Nothing. 

Nobbler. The devil!— stop, though, I have it. My pipe ! It's 
silver mounted. At least they'll lend me sixpence upon it. [looks for 
it.) 

Flipper (aside). His pipe ! 

Nobbler. Gone ! Mr. Flipper, I placed a silver mounted meer- 
schaum on this mantelpiece 

Flipper. How dare you smoke in my room, sir ? 

Nobbler. The pipe 1 say— where is it ? 

Flippkr. Well, if I must tell you, finding it in my room, and not 
knowing it was yours, I 

Nobbler. Of course you did— sent it to No. 1, with my coat. Is 
there anything else of mine you would like ? 

Flipper. Sir, these insinuations ! I tell you I threw your filthy 
pipe out of the window. 

Nobbler. Of course you expect I'll swallow that? 

Flipper. And, sir, unless you instantly quit this apartment, I 
shall throw you after it. 

Nobbler. In which case, I should probably fall foul of a police- 
man, and should give yon into custody. 

Flipper. Confound it, sir. will nothing satisfy you ■ 

Nobbler. Satisfy me, certainly • I am easily satisfied. I only 
ask for twopence to get my coat again. 



102 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



Flipper. Enough, sir, you shall have it, though I descend so low 
as to borrow of the landlady. 

Nobbler. Oh, descend by all means, you'll find her down below. 

Flipper. Yes, sir, I will go down stairs — I would take any steps 
in order to be rid of you. [Exit. 

Nobbler. Egad ! a very pleasant fellow-lodger I have got ! I 
wonder if he's got any more of those i-nteresting little documents 
relating to stolen property, (takes up bill from table) What's this 1 
His lodging bill — not paid, of course. And a nice little sum it 
mounts up to. Poor Mrs. Grampus ! I'll just inform her what kind 
of a lodger she has got. Perhaps she'll be more indulgent with my 
little bill, and even now she is doubtless being further victimized. 
The miscreant left this place to borrow money of her ! I will in- 
stantly warn her. No I won't ; I'll wait till he gets the twopence, 
or I shan't get my coat. But after that, it shall never be said that 
I screened a robber. What the deuce could the fellow have had, 
to run up such a bill as this 1 (reads) " Dec. 20th : Breakfast, din- 
ner, gruel and sweet spirits of nitre." Gruel eh ] He's had a cold, 
too. "21st, Gruel," again: a bad cold, evidently. "22d, Gruel and 
nitre for Mr. Nobbier." What's that ? " 23d, Gruel for Mr. Nobbier 
as before. 24th— 25th " — every day the same entry, " Gruel and 
nitre for Mr. Nobbier." Is it possible ? 'twas he, this felon, this 
illegal pawner, this purloiner of bright blue coats with gilt buttons, 
■ — was the guardian angel that every night brought that gruel to 
the sick man's door. Generous criminal ! Your heart is in the 
right place, although your fingers are so often in the wrong per- 
son's pockets. He cannot be wholly lost to virtue. Might not my 
eloquence even yet recall him to the paths of rectitude, and so re- 
pay him for his magnanimous basins of gruel ? I'll try. He comes. 
Unhappy man ! 

Enter Flipper. 

Flipper. I am really the most unfortunate fellow in the world. 

Nobbler. You are indeed. But may we not still hope. Stop, 
by the bye, have you got the twopence? 

Flipper. Twopence, no ; how the devil should I get it 1 

Nobbler. If as a first step you would only leave off bad lan- 
guage. But Mrs. Grampus 

Flipper. Gone out, and won't be back till evening. I even de- 
graded myself so far as to ask Jem, the shoe boy, for the sum, but 
be hadn't got a farthing. So I suppose I must be bored with you 
all day. 

Nobbler. No, don't say bored ; I am your best friend. 

Flipper. Well, you have a queer way of showing your friend- 
ship, at any rate. 

Nobbler-. How could I be otherwise ? Are you not my bene- 
factor—my guardian genius ? 

Flipper. How ridiculous you are talking ; just now I ruined you. 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 103 



Nobbler. And so yon have. But shall that destroy my grati- 
tude. Oh. most magnanimous of pickpockets, did you not, when 
I was lying on a bed of sickness, come to my door each night and 
pour balm into my wounded heart in the form of eleemosynary 
gruel ? [enbracmg him.) 

Flipper shaking him off . Balm, indeed ! Go to the devil with 
your gratitude. I only tried to stop your infernal cough, that 
hindered me from sleeping. 

Xobbler. Xo ; you make light of the benefits you have conferred 
upon me — true test of nobleness ! Oh, if you would but reflect 
upon your situation ! 

Flipper. Reflect ! Tve thought of nothing but my situation 
since you've made me lose all hopes of it. by walking off with my 
only pair of boots. 

Xobbler. What ! were you about to seek employment — about to 
obtain an honest mode of living ] 

Flipper. Don't I tell you I was going to set a situation. 

Xobbler. And shall it be said that I was the ruin of my bene- 
factor — that I blighted the future prospects of the man who fur- 
nished me with gruel ! Never ! My friend, fear not, you shall have 
a pair of boots at any sacrifice, (rushes out.) 

Flipper. Well, he's a rum one. I must say ; and yet I rather like 
the fellow. The idea of all this sratitude for a few pints of gruel 
— only administered in self-defence, too. 1 wonder whether he will 
get a pair of boots and so enable me to keep my appointment. 
But he, poor devil, seems also in a fix through me. Egad. I wish 
I could find him a coat ! 



IXCUEABLE BLUES. 

From Tom Taylor's Farce of "A Blighted Being." 

CHARACTERS. 

Ned Spanker, a Naval Surgeon. 
Job Wort, a Misanthrope. 

Scene. — A room in a eo 'el. Tiro windows painted in flat. 

Door on i /. ink. paper : etc.. and a news- 

paper on it. 

[In the following scene, taken from Tom Taylor's farce of "A Blighted 
Being," which is in itself a clever adaptation of a witty French vaudeville — 
Une Existence DeodUn c e— we have the antithesis of human character. Ned 
Spanker is a bold, frank-hearted son of the sea, who looks upon the bright 
side of the future and who has struggled manfully and cheerfully through ad- 
versity. Job Wort, on the other hand, although of a natural cheerful dispo- 
sition, has surrendered his prospects of prosperity to the gratifacation of a 
self-created morbid sentimentalism.] 



104 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



Spanker discovered standing alone. 

Spanker {goes up to table and sits, looking at paper). Holloa ! here's 
the last news from the Baltic ! Confound those Eooshians ! won't 
come out of their holes, and have a stand up fight, like men. 

Enter Job Wort. 

Job {sighs). It's too bad ! The attorneys are like all the rest of 
the species — can't comprehend moral sufferings — aint up to 

" The stinging of a heart the world has stung." 
I've tried to make that hard headed lawyer understand my position 
as a wretch. He charges me 6s 8d. as a client. When I painted 
my sufferings as a human being, he asked me if I tried " Greg- 
ory's powder ! " Disgusting ! 

Span, (looking up from paper). Eh ! I know that voice ! Why — 
— yes — of course it is — the very man — Job ! {rises and comes for- 
ward. ) 

Job. Who is it that addresses me by that detested monosyllable ? 

Span. Why, Job Wort, don't you remember Ned Spanker 7 

Job. {starts, examines his face, then shakes his hands). My mind has 
been the abode of such misery since I heard that name 

Span. Your old chum in Gower-street, man — when you were 
digging up Latin roots at the college, and I was studying anatomy. 

Job. Ah ! that was eight years ago. A waste of wretchedness 
lies between then and now ; but I remember your being plucked, 
and how drunk we got together on that melancholy occasion. 

Span\ What a spree we had that night ! 

Job. And what a headache 1 had the next morning ! 

Span. But what the deuce has come over you? You were a 
jolly fellow enough in those days. 

Job. Yes. life smiled upon me then — I had not tasted the fruits 
of the Dead Sea, and found them ashes on my lips ! — I have lived 
on those fruits ever since. 

Span. Uncommon dry eating, I should think ! But what have 
you been about since we parted ? I — to try my fortune as a sur- 
geon on board an emigrant ship — and you 

Job. To enter my uncle's brewery, at Little Pedlington, as a 
clerk, with the prospect of a partnership — Ha ! ha ! ha ! la clerk 
in a provincial brewery, with my literary aspirations — my deep 
susceptibilities ! Oh ! how bitter was the bread I earned — how 
bitter was the beer I brewed ! 

Span. Well, that's a recomendation for the India trade, you 
know. 

Job. 1 allude to its moral bitterness. Speaking as a brewer, I 
believe it was insipid. My uncle soon found out that 1 was not 
worth my salt, as he coarsely expressed it, and 1 cut Little Ped- 
lington and the mash tub for London and literature. 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 105 



Span. I should have stuck to the tap. 

Job. I dare say you would, [crosses) But I felt within me 
thoughts that "the world," I fancied, "would not willingly let 
die. 5 ' and I determined to give them to the world. Sir, the world 
wouldn't have 'em — that is. the block-head editors and the sordid 
publishers would not give me a rap for the verses that flowed 
from me like a lava flood, hot from the volcano of the heart. 

Span. Perhaps they were afraid it might set the shop on fire. 
Paper's a very combustible cargo. 

Job. Luckily I had enough to live upon without their aid, so I 
determined to be my own publisher. I brought out my antedilu- 
vian epic in sixteen books. It fell dead from the press. 

Spas. I hope it didn't hurt anybody. 

Job. Sir, if my sufferings are to be made the subject of coarse 
jokes, 1 will not trouble you with them further. 1 thought I had 
found a friend. It is one more added to the catalogue of decep- 
tions, {crosses behind Spanker.) 

Span. No, no, old fellow. 1 feel for you — indeed I do. Heave 
ahead ! 

Job. I tried the stage. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Poor fool that I was— I 
tried the stas;e, sir ! 

Span. And was damn'd — eh 1 

Job. No, sir, I wasn't damn'd. The low hirelings who have the 
ears of the idiotic managers nowadays, took good care that my 
tragedies should not find their way to the public. My works 
were returned, sir, as unsuitable — and so they were unsuitable, sir 
— I'm proud of it ! 

Span. That's right ! keep your pecker up, old boy, whatever 
you do. 

Job And then I felt that the brand of Cain was upon me — that 
I was one of the world's accursed — and ever since that time I 
have dragged my load of misery about the various watering 
places of the United Kingdom — a Blighted Being !— awaiting with 
anxiety the time when I shall " shuffle off this mortal coil." 

Span. Have you travelled much by rail ? 

Job. Yes. by excursion trains— but no accident ever happens to 
the trains I go by. (crosses.) 

Span. That's extraordinary ! you should try a trip in one of our 
steamers But what are you doing in this out of the way place? 

Job What 1 do everywhere — Buffering — waiting and wooing the 
annihilation that will not come tome. My uncle died a year ago. 

Span An I left you something, I hope ] 

Job Not a rap! His fortune went to his wife — unless she mar- 
ried again — when it reverts to me. 

Span'. I'm afraid that's a bad look out. 

Job. My man of business in London thought there was a flaw in 
tne wiil, I consulted the attorney here, this morning, about it— 



106 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



but he says it's all right— so there's £800 a year gone — that I once 
looked forward to — another deception ! 

Span, But you said you'd something of your own % 

Job. I had — but what with the expenses of my epic— and some 
railway transactions — that's pretty well gone. 

Span. What ! you've been speculating 1 

Job. In the restless search after excitement, I did dabble a lit- 
tle in shares. I got my excitement — but I lost my money. I've a 
hundred pounds left — and that spent — I shall be a beggar. 

Span. And what do you mean to do then ? 

Job. Do ! Ha ! ha ! Chalk a mackerel on Lhe pavement and sit by 
it in gloomy meditation ! 

Span. And what will you turn to then ? 

Job. Ah ! What ! Ha, ha, ha ! When a man believes in nothing 
— succeeds in nothing — looks forward to nothing — and has got 
nothing — Avhat is there to look forward to — but one thing 1 {crosses) 

Span. The bench. 

Job {sits at table). The grave ! 

Span, {getting to Job, in front of Mm). I say, old fellow, I'm a 
doctor. I've practised in hot climates. I've seen the infernal tricks 
bile plays with the constitution. 

Job. Bile! 

Span. Let me prescribe for you. 

Job. Poison ? 

Span. No — blue pill — two grains a day — mutton chop at break- 
fast — a swinging walk — a light dinner — two glasses of old sherry 
— no supper — and early hours. Follow my regimen, and I'll set 
you right as a trivet in a couple of months. 

Job. Oh ! this is bitter ! the friend in whose bosom I have shed 
my flood of anguish, proposes to me a mutton chop and blue pill. 
Oh, man ! man ! Can you trifle thus with a misery like mine 1 



A MISEB RECLAIMED. 

From J. R. Planche's Comedy of " Grist to the Mill." 
CHARACTERS. 

The Marquis of E-icheville, a Miser. 

Fran cine, a Miller. 

Page. 

Time — Period of Louis XV. 

Scene. — A hall in the chateau of the Marquis, old and dirty, with de* 
lapidated furniture. 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 107 



[The Marquis de Rieheville, one of the wealthiest noblemen in France, is a 
miserable, penurious, and selfish man, oppressing the poor, while allowing 
his numerous estates to fall into ruin and decay. The noble, having no heirs 
save a nephew, whom he has disowned on account of his sister's marrying a 
brewer, a good and handsome man, the Yidame of Poitiers, an ex-captain 
of musketeers, endeavors to entrap the Marquis into a marriage with his sis- 
ter, Mile, de Merluchet, a poverty-stricken virgin of fifty, with the aim of ob- 
taining the control of Richeville's immense property. For that purpose the 
Vidame has contrived to cause his sister and the Marquis to be surprised by 
witnesses under such circumstances as to render marriage indispensable in 
the eyes of honorable men. The Marquis having solicited the governorship 
of the province and other honors, the Prince de Conti is dispatched by the 
king to inquire into his capabilities and way of life. Upon his arrival the 
prince is disgusted with the Marquis' manners and cupidity. To make mat- 
ters worse, the Vidame and his sister lay their case before the prince with 
such success that he commands the Marquis to sign the marriage contract 
that evening, otherwise, on the morrow, he would be a prisoner in the castle 
of Pignerol. The Marquis is, however, relieved from this degredation through 
the timely arrival of a young and handsome lady, who boldly announces her- 
self to be the Marchioness of Rieheville. She is in reality Francine, a cousin, 
on his father's side, of the disinherited nephew of the marquis and the widow 
of a soldier, who, after the death of her father, continued his business as a 
miller. Learning of the conspiracy against the Marquis' wealth and her 
cousin's expectation, Francine, borrowing a handsome travelling dress from a 
lady at the village inn, makes her appearance and completely frustrates the 
mercenary designs of the ex-musketeer. Moreover, her youth, beauty, intel- 
ligence and decision of character inspires the prince with such an admiration 
that he pardons all the short comings of the Marquis, who, however, is igno- 
rant as to the identity of his guardian angel. The page should be a withered 
up, middle-aged, half-starved man, in seedy apparel, in order to give full 
effect to his appearance on the scene.] 

Enter Marquis. 

Marquis. I'm in a dream ! certainly I must be in a dream. The 
prince has changed his tone altogether ; to me he is most gra- 
cious, most friendly, and has actually hinted that I may calculate 
upon the king's favorable consideration of my request ; it's all 
owing to that lady who pretends to be my wife ; there can be no 
doubt of that. The prince admits that her account of me has 
given him great satisfaction. Who. in the name of wonder, can 
she be 1 and what object can she have in thus coming to my res- 
cue both from the anger of the prince and the machinations of that 
cursed vidame, and his Gorgon of a sister. I have never seen the 
lady before. I am certain I could not have forgotten such a 
charming creature — for she is a very charming creature. The 
prince allows that; he complimented me exceedingly on my good 
taste, and was very curious to know who she was before she be* 



108 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



came Marchioness de Richeville. Egad, so am I ; but I didn't 
know how to answer him. It was fortunate that at that moment 
he suddenly remembered he had a dispatch to write. I've made 
my escape, and must endeavor to come to an explanation with this 
soi-distant wife of mine, if she has not vanished in a whirlwind ' 

Enter Francine. 

Ah ! you are here, madam ! I was just wishing to see you. 

Francine. And I come at a wish, you see— impossible to have a 
more attentive wife. 

Mar. Ay, ay, ay ; that's all very well ; but at last we are alone, 
madam. 

Fran. A tete-a-tete — how delightful ! 

Mar. That's as it may be. There is nobody to overhear us, and 
I must request you to tell me directly who you are. 

Fran. Guess. 

Mar. Guess ! Impossible ! I've turned my brain guessing — so 
tell me your real name immmediately. 

Fran. No. 

Mar. You refuse 1 

Fran. Positively. 

Mar. But you'll tell me 

Fran. Nothing. 

Mar. The deuce — well — but — but harkye, madam : suppose I 
don't choose to carry on this farce ; you are aware there is con- 
siderable danger in imposing upon his royal highness, and one 
word from me 

Fran. Say it. 

Mar. Say it ! do you know what will happen to you if I do say 
it 1 

Fran. No ; but I know what will happen to you. 

Mar. Eh % 

Fran. The prince will return to his first impressions, and find 
you to be a miserly, narrow-minded, hard-hearted man, whose pe- 
nurious habits have made him look an old shrivelled up pantaloon 
of sixty, instead of a well-favored nobleman of five-and-forty ; and 
whose name, instead of being the pride of the whole country, is a 
byword for scorn and detestation among his own tenants. 

Mar. Madam ! madam ! 

Fran. I haven't half done yet. The prince will find out this, 
and consequently prevent your obtaining whatever it is you desire, 
whilst Mile, de Merluchet 

Mar. Ah ! 

Fran. Who is now at the hall door, with the vidame, finding the 
only bar to their project removed, will press their suits again upon 
his royal highness, who, too happy to revenge Himself on you for 
assisting in his deception, will 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 109 



Mar. Enough, enough 

Fran I should thiuk so ; but people's tastes differ j so farewell. 
If you please you have no wife — I dropped from the clouds, and I 
am gone in a 

Mas. No, no ; stay, I entreat — you say Mile, de Merluchet is 
at the hall door? 

Fran. She and the ridame were on the steps as I passed through 
the gallery. 

Mar. Fiends ! Confound them! 

Fran. Ill confound them if you leave them to me, and save the 
fiends the trouble ; but if you insist 

Mar. I insist on nothing; do whatever you please; say what- 
ever you like ; only save me from that woman — and obtain me 
what I request from his majesty. 

Fran. Then I am your wife 

Mar. You are ; that is, as far as 

Fran. As far as /please : no farther. All you have to do is to 
sanction any act of mine, as Marchioness de Richeville. 

Mar. {hesitatingly). Ye — yes ; but you won't 

Fran. Don't be alarmed. 1 will do nothing but what you ought 
to do — nothing that should cause you a moment's repentance. I 
am sorry to say there is no difficulty in a woman's being the better 
half of such a man as you are, or rather as you have made your- 
self. 

Mar. Madam, madam 

Fran. 0, what I do tell you will be the truth, depend upon it ; 
and now, the first thing I have to propose to you is a good action. 

Mar. A good action ! How much will it cost ? 

Fran'. A trifle to you. I wish to draw upon your good nature 
more than your banker. 

Mar In that case, what is it? 

Fran. Marquis, you have, or I may say we have, a nephew. 

Mar. A nephew ! — [aside) 0, the devil ! 

Fran. The son of a sister, who, being ten years older than your- 
self, did not think it necessary to consult you in the choice of a 
husband. 

Mar. And so degraded herself by marrying 

Fran. An honest man, whose son. now two-and-twenty — a very 
nice young follow — is a cornet of calvary, and most desirous of 
being I tonus with his uncle. 

Mar. I'll have nothing to Bay to him : he's no nephew of mine. 
I've turned him out of every house I own in the kingdom. 

Fran. And now you'll send for him to this. 

M \r. Never ! 

\ Vos, you will Think again, he's a very fine young man, 
and only wants your consent to marry a young lady of good fami- 
ly and some fortune — the daughter of a general ollicer. 



110 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



Mar. He may marry any body he likes ; but I'll never acknowl- 
edge him, or set my eyes on him, if I can help it. 

Fran. Yes, you will 

Mar. Never ! never ! never ! 

Fran. Very well, then ; I'll ring the bell— * 

Mar. Ring the bell ! What for 1 (crosses.) 

Fran. To desire the page to say you will be happy to see 
Mile, de Merluchet. 

Mar. No, no ; not for the world. 

Fran. You must see one or the other — your nephew or Mile, 
de Merluchet. 

Mar. (aside). She'll drive me mad! What shall I do? {aloud) 
Well, of the two, if I must, I'll — I'll see the fellow. 

Fran. And acknowledge him 

Mar. Perhaps, if he behaves himself, some day or another. 

Fran. Unconditionally, and as soon as he arrives. 

Mar. Ah, well, well ! When he arrives we shall see. (aside) 
Thank Hesven, he's at Versailles with his regiment. It may be 
some days — anything to gain time, (aloud) But you must fulfill 
your part of the bargain. 

Fran. Of course. 0, don't fear me ! I'll make you a capital 
wife, and do you a great deal more good than you dream of. i'll 
transform you — remodel you — renovate you. You shall be re- 
spected, loved, adored. Fancy that — adored ! What a novelty it, 
will be to you! 

Mar. I'm afraid it will be a very expensive novelty 

Fran. You'll find it cheap at the price. 

Mar. Not if it ruins me. 

Fran. Very well. You prefer being ruined by the De Merlu- 
chets 

Mar. No. no. For mercy's sake, don't ring. 

Fran. Surrender, then, unconditionally, or nothing stops me — 
nothing. 

Mar. I do, I do. (she rings the bell) I tell you I do. What d'ye 
ring for 1 

Enter Page. 

Fran. Don't be alarmed, (to Page) You will inform the house- 
hold that the Marquis de Richeville, in honor of his royal high- 
ness' s arrival, has commanded that an ox should be killed and 
roasted in the park, and wine served out of his cellars to every 
person who chooses to partake of it. 

Mar. (aside). But 

Fran, (aside). Be quiet, (to Page) Do you hear me, sir 1 

Page {astonished). Ye — yes, madam. 

Fran. And tell the servants that they shall have new liveries as 
goon as they can be made, and that he doubles all their wages. 

Mar. {aside). Doubles ! Hold ! 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. Ill 



Fran, {aside). Hold your tongue, (to Page) D'ye hear me, sir'? 

Page (still more astonished). Ye — yes, madam. 

Frax. What are your wages ? 

Page. I humbly beg your pardon, ma*dam ; but I have no wages. 

Frax Never mind : he'll double them. Tell the steward to dis- 
tribute a thousand francs amongst the poor of the village. 

Page. Yes, madam. 

Mar. (aside]. But, 'sdeath! 

Fran. You'll be adored ! 

Mar. But I don't waut 

Frax. (to Page). And to bring five hundred louis-d'ors to the 
Marquis, for his casual expenses. 

Mar. No, no, no. 

Frax. (aside). You'll be respected. 

Mar. But I don't care, (rises ) 

Frax. 0. very well ! (fo Page) Go to Mademoiselle de Merlu- 
chet, and say the Marquis 

Mar. (aside). No, no ; I am satisfied. I will be adored — respected. 

Frax. And say the Marquis is not at home. 

Page. Yes, madam. Long live the Marquis de Richeville! 

[Exit. 

Frax. Dye hear, Marquis 1 The poor fellow has hardly got 
strength to say so ; but I'll fatten him up, and you, too, before I've 
done with you. 

Mar. Bui I don't wish 

Frax. But I do. I can't have such a lean scarecrow of a hus- 
band as this is. Go, my dear Marquis, directly, put on the very 
best coat you have in your wardrobe. I know you've got clothes, 
though you won't wear them. Make yourself handsome for your 
little wife's sake. Won't you, love ? 

Mar. She's a beautiful woman, (aside) It's impossible to say n* 
to her. (aloud) I will put on another coat. 

Frax. The handsomest you have mind. 

Mar. The handsomest I have. 



113 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS 



A FKACTION OF A WOMAN. 

From Thomas Haynes Bailey's Farce of " Perfection," 

CHARACTERS. 

Charles Paragon, a London Gentleman, 
Kate Brien, an Irish Heiress. 
Susan, her Lady's Maid. 
John, a Servant. 

Time — The present day. 

Scene. — Kate O'Brien's boudoir, handsomely furnished. Folding 
doors at the back. A table with rubber rollers and a handsome 
couch ityon which lies an elegant shawl. Chairs, etc. 

[This very effective scene requires delicate handling from Charles and Kate, 
and, if neatly done, affords one of the most pleasant specimens of quiet hu- 
mor of the modern stage. Sir Lawrence Paragon, having been not over fas- 
tidious, during his younger days, in the choice of a wife, desires his nephew 
and heir to avoid his matrimonial error through wedding Kate O'Brien, his 
ward, the daughter of an old friend. But Charles Paragon refuses to marry 
any lady unless she be all perfection. The fair one to become his wife must 
have a faultless face, a faultless mind ; she must be beautiful without vanity ; 
graceful without conceit ; retiring without mauraise lionte ; talented without 
display ; agreeable without coquetry ; amiable without sentimentality ; liber- 
al without ostentation ; animated without frivolity. Although his uncle as- 
sures him that Miss O'Brien possesses neither of these qualifications, the 
young man resolves upon visiting the lady in order to judge for himself, 
whereupon the following scene occurs,] 

Kate discovered. 

Kate. Heigho ! why was I born an heiress ? envied by my own 
sex, perpetually teased by the men, and knowing but too well, that 
I am sought only for my gold. Of one thing I am resolved : I 
never will marry till I have good reason to know that I am loved 
for myself alone. 

Enter Susan. 

Susan. A note, madam — no answer, the young man said. A very 
nice, genteel-looking young man he was, too 

Kate. You think of nothing, Susan, but nice young men. Go 
about your business. 

Susan. Well, I'm sure, there's no harm in that. He was a very 
nice young man, that 1 will maintain. 

[Exit through the folding door 9* 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 113 



Kate 'after reading the note). From my good guardian, Sir Law- 
rence Paragon ; and to inform me. as I am to expect a visit from 
his nephew, he hopes J will appear to the best advantage. I sup- 
pose, all my graces now, and none of my airs, {reads) " You have 
only to exert the fascinations you possess, to win his heart, and 
make me your affectionate uncle.' 1 — Thankye kindly, sir — I fear 
your partiality blinds you. But what shall I do with the nephew ] 
''The woman he marries must be perfection.' If he resembles 
Sir Lawrence, I'm sure to like him; and, if so, I may be tempted 
to try and win him ; but it shall be without displaying one of the 
perfections which he has declared to be indispensable. He thinks 
to take me by surprise ; but he shall not find me without a plot. 

Enter Susan. 
Susan ! {knock without.) 

Susan. Yes, ma'am — [aside) There is a young gentleman knock- 
ing at the door — a very nice looking gentleman— but I don't dare 
say so, 

Kate. Wheel that sofa there. Now for the table. (Susan wheels 
table to the front, on winch lies a nosegay and a portfolio. Kate throws 
herself on sofa ) Now, unfold my shawl. There, throw it over my 
feet. Make haste. Now leave me. 

Susan. What can she be about ! I think she is out of her luna- 
cies, [hxit. 
Enter Servant. 

Servant. Mr. Paragon, madam, is below. 

Kate. Show him in. [Servant shows in Cuarles, and exits.) 

Chaules. Madam, my uncle. Sir Lawrence, being prevented 
calling on you, as he intended, I am obliged to introduce myself. 
[aside) She is exceedingly pretty. 

Kate. You will excuse my not rising to receive you, sir. Pray 
sit down. I am very happy— I am very happy to see you. The 
nephew of my father's old friend must always be welcome here. 

Ciias. ■".side). Come, there's no brogue, however. Her manner 
is enchanting. Madam, you are very kind. I am afraid I've call- 
ed at an unseasonable hour ; I have disturbed you ; you are re- 
posing — perhaps you were sleeping — possibly dreaming, {aside) I 
wonder sb j doesn't get up 

Kate. No, sit ! you could not have called more opportunely. I 
have been looking over this endless portfolio of drawings. 

('has Drawings! are you fond of the art V 

Kate. Excessively! 1 could look at them for ever. 

Ciias. {aside . Accomplished creature! I always said, that when 
I did fall in love, it would be at first sight; and I do believe my 
time is come at last. 

Kate. What a delightful art painting is! to be able to perpetu- 
ate the features of those who are dear to us. 



114 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



Chas. Charming ! 

Kate. Or to treasure up some remembrances of scenes in which 
we have been happy, but which we may never look upon again. 

Chas. Delightful ! 

Kate. Or to copy the classical groups of antiquity, or form new 
combinations of graceful, lovely figures. 

Chas. Oh! your enthusiasm quite enchants me. 

Kate Oh ! you are an enthusiast, also 1 

Chas. Oh, prodigiously ! Pray, my dear madam, allow me to 
feast my eyes upon some of your drawings, (aside) Angelic crea- 
ture ! 

Kate. Sir — sir, what did you say ? 

Chas. Permit me to see one of your performances. 

Kate. I regret to say. I never had the least idea of drawing; 
my houses, my trees, and my cattle are all one confused jumble 
of scratches. 

Chas. Not draw ? 

Kate. No— do you ? 

Chas. 1 ? Oh, no ! But I quite misunderstood you. I thought 
— {aside) Dear me ; what a pity such a sweet creature should lack 
such a resource, such an accomplishment ! 

Kate. Is anything the matter, sir ? 

Chas. Oh, nothing, {aside) After all, it is but one. I've no 
doubt she has all the rest. 

Kate. Did you speak ? 

Chas. 1 was saying, I never heard so musical a voice. 

Kate Oh, you natter me. You mention music— do you not doat 
on it? 

Chas. Ah ! there we do agree. The woman who sings I 

Kate Yes, sir. 

Chas. The woman who plays ! 

Kate. Yes, sir. 

Chas. The woman who does both well, is a divinity. You are an 
enthusiast in your love of music. I see you are. 

Kate. I am, sir : music is my passion ! music in the morning; 
music in the evening ; music at the silent hour of night ; music on 
the water- 

Chas. What a woman she is ! 

Kate. Music at any hour. 

Chas. Yes, or on any instrument. 

Kate. Oh, yes ; from the magnificent organ, to the gentle lute, 

Chas. Delicious ! 

Kate. <§>r a voice— better than all, a soul-enchanting voice. 

Chas. (aside). There is no resisting her. {aloud) Oh, madam, 
sing. 

Kate. Alas, sir ! how shall I make the sad confession — much as 
I love music I can only listen, 

Chas, What] 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 115 



Kate. T have not a singing note in my voice ; and no one could 
ever teach me to play. 

Chas Was there ever such an impostor! (aloud) Mad- 

am, you positively astonish me. 

Kate How so. sir — can you sing '1 

Chas. Oh, no; men are not expected to acquire those accom- 
plishments ; but a woman — that is— I — I 

Kate I know, sir : you were going to say, that a woman without 
them is little better than a brute. 

Chas. Madam, how can you suppose 

Kate Ay. sir, and I perfectly agree with you — but, sir, 'tis my 
misfortune, and not my fault. 

Chas. {aside). What a pensive tone of voice, and what a coun- 
tenance ! there can be no humbug there. Spite of all her lamen- 
table deficiencies, I am fascinated. 

Kate. My fate is an unhappy one — T am an orphan, as you know, 
and of course, laboring under such defects, I never mean to 
marry. 

Chas. Never mean to marry ! 

Kate. Never ! 

Chas. Oh, madam, in mercy to mankind, make not so rash, so 
inconsiderate a resolve. 

Kate. Sir, it is in mercy to mankind I make it. What would be 
a fond husband's sufferings, were he to see the wife of his bosom 
sinking under the degrading consciousness that she was unworthy 
of him] 

Chas. Unworthy! 

Kate. Would he not ca^t her from him ! Yes, yes, he would do 
so — I must live on unloved. 

Chas. (aside). By Jove! she is irresistible! (aloud] Madam, I 
adore you — listen to me ; oh. listen, and smile on me — hear me: I 
love you— oh ! love me, pray do ! kneels. ) 

Kate. Sir, this is so unlooked-for. so unexpected. 

Cma<. Nay, do not frown upon me ; allow me to hope. 

Katk. Rise. Bir; you may hope — but the suprise, the agitation 
— pray ring that bell. 

<'h She's going to faint, {rings bell.) 

Kate. So. then, I mu<t retire. My maid shall return, and speak 
a few words to you; and then, after having seen your uncle, you 
may visit me again. 

Enter Si* sax. 

Come here, Susan, (ichispers to Iter.) 
Susan. La, madam, is it possible 1 
Kate. Obey me instantly. Call the servant. 
Susan. John, come here, instantly. 

Enter John. 



116 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



Chas. {aside). What on earth does she want % Why don't she 
get up ? 

Kate. Now, Susan, open the doors. John, wheel the sofa into 
the other room. Adieu, sir ; my maid shall return immediately. 
[She is wheeled into the next room, and the door closes. 

Chas. Well, positively, that is the laziest proceeding I ever wit- 
nessed. By-the-by, 'twas all my fault. 1 suppose she was too 
faint to move. Oh, here comes the maid. 

Enter Susan. 

Susan (aside). Well, mistress is mad, that's certain ; but I must 
do as I'm bid. 

Chas. How is your mistress 1 She is a charming creature. 
What a happy girl you are — what a sweet mistress you have got ! 

Susan. She is charming — poor thing ! 

Chas. Poor thing ! what do you mean by poor thing ? 

Susan. Oh, it's very sad. 

Chas. What is sad t 

Susan. You saw my mistress whisper to me ? 

Chas. Yes, to be sure ! but there's nothing so sad in a whisper. 

Susan. Indeed, but there is, though. She desired me to reveal 
the affair to you ; she had not the courage to tell you herself. To 
be sure, you must have known it, sooner or later. 

Chas. What do you mean 1 You frighten me out of my wits. 

Susan. It's a sad affliction, to be sure— a very great defect — 
she's much to be pitied. 

Chas. A defect % another defect % and I have committed myself 
— I've proposed - 

Susan. Oh, sir ! 

Chas Speak out, do. 

Susan. Many years ago 

Chas. That's as bad as ' k once upon a time." Pray go on— 
make haste. 

Susan. My mistress was thrown from her horse 

Chas. Yes— well, she was not killed, so what then ! 

Susan ( pretending to weep). Fractured limb 

Chas. Oh! what limb? 

Susan. Leg — broke all to bits, and 

Chas. Well, speak. 

Susan Amputation 

Chas. What ? 

Susan. She has got a cork leg. 

Chas. A cork leg ! Horror ! What have I done 1 engaged my- 
self — I shall go mad ! 

Susan. Good morning, sir. I must go, if you please, to give 
my mistress the stick. [Exit. 

Chas. Do, by all means. I deserve the stick worst. I, that 



AMATEUR AXD PARLOR THEATRICALS. 117 



said I would marry perfection — I've bound myself to the fraction 
of a woman. [Exit. 



TOO ATTENTIVE BY HALF. 

From J, Maddison Morton's Farce of " Betsey Baker." 

CHARACTERS. 

Mr. Marmaduke Mouser, Attorney-at-Law. 
Mr. Crummy, his Partner. 
Betsy Baker, Laundress. 

Time. — The present period. 

Scene. — A handsomely furnished Apartment. Doors right and left* 
Tables, chairs, etc. 

[In order to comprehend the true intention of the following 1 scene, taken 
from a most ludicrous but extravagant farce, it is neecessary to premise that 
Mr. Mouser, a recently married man, is so anxious in his attentions to his 
wife in public and private that he not only neglects the business of the firm 
of which he is the senior, but incurs the resentment of his wife through fear 
of provoking expressions of ridicule from persons witnessing his excessive de- 
monstrations of marital affection. Both these errors in judgment his part- 
ner, Crummy, Monster's wife's cousin, to whom she had complained of his be- 
ing "too attentive by half," resolves to correct by a lively conspiracy with 
Betsy Baker, a laundress of the neighborhood, in order to convey to Mrs. 
Mouser the impression that her husband is deceiving her under the mask of ex- 
traordinary devotion. As the scene opens Mr. Crummy has just returned 
from a professional visit to Mis. General Jones, who refuses to consult with 
other than the senior partner of the firm.] 

Crummy discovered in meditation. 

Crummy. " Too attentive by half ! " Then it is as T feared, and 
that simpleton, Mouser. doesn't see that he is persecuting his wife 
with his affection. She evidently dreads a conjugal tete-a-tete, and 
no wonder. He never leaves her for a moment, but there he is, 
eternally and everlastingly at her side, ;: sighing like a furnace," 
and making himself ridiculous in her eyes. Mist hief will certainly 
come of it. Some remedy must be devised. But what? If I 
could only contrive to excite Anastasia's suspicions that her hus- 
band, like Major General Jones, is not exactly satisfied with one 
attachment at a time — by this means her jealousy might be arous- 
ed. But she wouldn't believe me. No, Mouser himself must sup- 
ply the materials. But how ? (Betsy Bakes knocks) Come in! 

Betsy appears ivith a small parcel. 



118 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



Betsy. Mrs Mouser's veil 

Crum. Come in, my dear. 

Betsy. Pattens and all, sir ? 

Crum. No. You may leave fchem outside. 

Betsy, if it's the same to you, sir, Pd rather no'l 

Crum. Then take them off at all events. 

Betsy. Of course, sir. {takes off her pattens and comes forward, car- 
rying them in her hand) It isn't likely I should go for to walk on a 
carpet, especially when the roads are so dreadful muddy, {putting 
her pattens down on table with a slam. ) 

Crum. Zounds ! don't put 'em on the table, {taking pattens from 
Betsy.) 

Betsy, I'm sure I don't know what to do with 'em, so put 'em 
where you like. 

Crum. Ha, ha ! Heyday ! I think I ought to know that face 
again. 

Betsy. If you ever saw it before, you certainly ought. 

Crum. Have i not met you rather frequently of late walking of 
an evening 1 with our young clerk, Joseph Harris ? 

Betsy. Yes, sir. We've rather delicate constitutions both of us, 
so we generally go out for a little fresh air and exercise every 
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, 
after work hours. We can't get out on any other evenings, sir. I 
suppose you're Mr. Crummy ? You're not Mr. Mouser. We all 
Jmow him. 

Crum. We ! Who ? 

Betsy. Why all us girls at the Laundry over the way. Ah, there's 
a pattern for a husband! 'Tisnt every woman, sir, as gets a 
Mouser. No, sir — Mousers are scarce. 

Crum. And yet you'd take your chance and marry Joseph Har- 
ris 1 

Betsy. Just try me ! And now I think of it, sir, he has told me 
more than once that you said if ever he found a nice, genteel, re- 
spectable young woman that he'd like to marry, you'd do some- 
thing for him, sir. 

Crum. Oh, then you, I suppose, are the 

iBktsy. The young woman ? Yes, sir. Elizabeth Baker. The 
youngest of sixteen sisters, and all of 'em girls, sir — and all hard 
working girls too, sir. It's worth going over to our Laundry to see 
us, sir. Fancy sixteen Bakers a- washing, all in a row ! 

Crdm. Well, I'll bear my promise in mind. 

Betsy. Don't you think you'd better get it off your mind at 
once, sir 1 There's a nice little shop in the green-grocery line, to 
be let at the corner of the street — and, as Harris doesn't seem very 
fond of the law, it would be the very thing for us. 

Crum. {aside). Egad, here's an opportunity for driving a bar- 
gain ! She's a smart little body enough, and if she can only be 



AMATEUR AXD PARLOR THEATRICALS. 119 



induced to act as I direct — I'll feel the ground at all events. K aloud) 
1 suppose you've brought Mrs. Mouser s veil, {pointing to parcel.) 

Betsy. Yes, sir. 

Crum. Mr. Mouser called and told you to do so, eh 1 

Betsy, lie didn t address himself to any of us in particular, sir. 
He just popped his head in at the door and said, '"Mrs. Mouser 
wants her veil directly," and then took to his heels as if he was 
frightened to look at any other woman but his wife. Lor ! What 
a happy couple they must be ! 

Crum. {with a deep sigh). Happy ! {solemnly) They are not a happy 
couple ! 

Betsy. Lawks ! 

Crum. Yet they might be — but unfortunately, there is only one 
person in the world who could make them so. 

Betsy. And who is that ] 

Crum. You! 

Betsy {with a jump). Me! I'm sure I'll set about it directly if 
you'll only tell me how. 

Crum. 1 will, {looks mysteriously about him — Betsy- ivatches him 
with astonishment—then in a loud whisper) You must fall in love with 
Mr. Mouser. 

Betsy. Sir ! 

Crum. And Mr. Mouser must instantly fall in love with you. 

Betsy {staring at him — then, with dignity). Give me my pattens, 
sir, and let me go. Give me my pattens, I say ! 

Crum. Pshaw, child ! You misunderstand me. Listen — your 
sudden passion for Mouser 

Betsy. My pattens, sir! {seizing half of them and trying to pull 
them out of his hand.) 

Crum. Oh ! Very well ! It's a pity, too — for a married couple 
might do very well 

Betsy. My pattens ! 

Crum. At that little greengrocer's shop at the corner of the 
street. 

Betsy. My pat— 'letting go the pattens) Well, they're not worth 
making a piece of work about 

Crum. (smiling). Oh ! Then, as I was going to say. your passion 
for Mouser. will, of course, be merely assumed, but you musl con- 
trive to make him fall in love with you. in downright earnest. 

Betsy. I can't do it. i wouldn't mind trying if 1 wasn't such a 
dragon of virtue — but I'm sorry to say 1 am. 

Crum. Then he must fall in love with somebody else— and the 
little shop must go to somebody else. 

Betsy. Oh, lor, sir! Then i'll do my best— but if I could not 
succeed in captivating Mr. Mouser 1 

Crum. Then somebody else will. 

Betsy. But if he should happen to captivate me? 

Cp.sm. That's Your aflair. 



120 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



Betsy. But why — why am I to do all this ? 

Crum. That's my affair. 

Betsy. But what will Mrs. Mouser say 1 

Crum. That's her affair. 

Betsy. But she'll go and imagine all sorts of things. 

Crum. I hope she will. Come, is it a bargain 1 Will you have 
Joseph Harris and the little greengrocer's shop, or will you take 
your pattens and go ? {offering them.) 

Betsy. You can keep the pattens. 

Crum. Spoken like a sensible girl, {places pattens in passage) I ex- 
pect Mouser every minute. 

Betsy. Oh, lud ! {about to run off.) 

Crum. Don't run away ! {stopping her.) 

Betsy. But consider, sir, you can't expect me to act a part at a 
moment's notice. 

Crum. Then take that veil to Mrs. Mouser, and in a few minutes 
you can come back, and be sure you do come back. 

Enter Mouser. 

Betsy [looking at him). Well, I don't think there's much danger 
of my falling in love with him. (Mouser, who has put his hai, etc., on 
table, turns and sees Betsy, tvho runs off.) 

Mous. {severely to Crummy). Mr. Crummy, who is that young 
person 1 

Crum. Ha ! ha ! Come, I like that ! Go along ! 

Mous. But 1 don't like it, sir — neither shall I go along. I re- 
peat, who is that young person ? 

Crum. Ha ! ha ! You do it very well, Mouser — but it won't do 
— ugh ! you Don Juan ! {poking him in the side.) 

Mous. {after a look of astonishment at Crummy, then aside). Can he 
have been drinking thus early 7 

Crum. But I really think you might have waited till I was out 
of the room before you 

Mous Before I what, sir 1 

Crum. You know — this sort of thing, eh ? {winking at Mouser) 
I suppose you thought I shouldn't see you do it, eh ? 

Mous. Do if? Do what? 

Crum. Wink at her. 

Mous. {ceith grandeur). Mr. Crummy ! 

Crum. That's right— brazen it out — but let me tell you, sir, I 
have had my eye upon you and that young woman for some time 
past. 

Mous. Oh, damn it. I can't stand this ! You forget that you're 
a junior partner, sir. 

Crum. And you forget that I'm your wife's cousin, sir ; yes, sir ! 
and I'll not allow you to impose upon her with your pretended af- 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 121 



fection, you good-for-nothing little hypocrite, you, while you carry 
on a intrigue under her very nose, sir ! 

Mous. Nose, sir ? 

Crum. No, sir/J Neither will I suffer you to trifle with the feel- 
ings of one that I am determined shall not fall into the trap you 
have laid, sir. You know who I mean — Baker, sir ! {going round 
him inf out to left.) 

Mous. I trifle with the feelings of a Baker ! I lay a trap for a 
Baker! You're talking nonsense, Crummy ! 

Crum. Come, come. Now that you see I've found you out, tell 
me how you contrived to wheedle poor Betsy out of her affections '! 

Mous. Crummy. I'm not apt to make use of strong language ; 
but by the living jingo ! I never wheedled a Betsy out of anything 
in all my life ! 

Crum. Well, I suppose I must believe you. But intentionally 
or not, you certainly have made a most powerful' impression on 
her youthful heart ! She confessed as much to me just now. 

Mous {gradually dropping his look of indignation, and with self-sat- 
isf action). Poor Betsy ! I'm very sorry for her, I'm sure ! I say, 
Crummy, she's a niceish little sort of a girl enough. 

Crum. Umph ! so so ! (mi a contempt nous tone.) 

Mous. So so ! Now, let's be just. Crummy, let's be just. She 
has good eyes. Crummy, umph ? 

Crum. Squints a little. 

Mous. Does she 1 I've never noticed her in the slightest degree 
whatever, but I'm daum'd if she squints ! 

Crum. At any rate her eyes seem good enough to have noticed 
you. But knowing you to be free from blame in the matter, I rea- 
soned with her, told her the folly of fixing her affections upon a 
married man, but all in vain ; so you'd better take her in hand. 

Mous. Do you think so 1 

Crum. Certainly ; you can talk to her seriously, but kindly. 

M.»rs. Ot course I shouldn't go and behave like a brute to her ! 
I shouldn't go to blow Betsy up. 

Crum. Certainly not; for, after all, the poor girl is more to be 
pitied than blamed. 

Mous. Crummy, that sentiment does you honor ! It shows that 
the milk of human kindness flows in your bosom, Crummy. {shak- 
ing Crummy's ha 

Betsy without). Very well, ma'am, I'll be sure to remember it. 

Crum. That's her voice ! There's something lively and cheerful 
about it, eh ? 

Mous. Yes, yes, it's a pleasant voice, Crummy, {arranging his 
cravat, etc ) 

Crum. She might have gone out by the back door, but of course 
she knew that you were here. Ha ! ha ! [nudging Mouser, then re- 
tires up) 



122 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



Mous. Pooh ! Go along ! I believe you're about right though, 
'pon my life I do ! 

Enter Betsy. 

Betsy {seeing Mouser). There stands my wretched victim ! He 
little knows what's going to happen to him. 

Crum. {aside to Betst). Now then, attention ! {aloud) Well, my 
dear, Mrs. Mouser was pleased with her veil, I hope ? 

Betsy {crossing). Oh, yes, sir, but in getting it up, somehow or 
other, I run the iron through it. I' suppose I was thinking of 
something else, {looking languidly at Mouser, then aside to Crummy) 
How's that? 

Crum. {aside to her). Capital ! 

Mous. (in a plaintive tone, and approaching her). Dear, dear, so you 
run the iron though it, did you ? What a pity! 

Betsy {with pretended emotion). Oh, sir! {letting the veil fall — aside 
to Crummy) How's that ? 

Crum. (aside to her). Can't be better! 

Mous. (aside). It's a clear case. Poor creetur ! {picks up the veil 
and offers it to Betsy,) 

Betsy. Oh, sir ! (taking the veil and squeezing his hand — aside) I've 
done it ! 

Mous. (aside) She squeezed my hand ! 

Crum (to Betsy). Perhaps you've seen Mr. Mouser before. 
(aside to her) Sigh! (crosses behind.) 

Betsy. Heigho ! (aloud) Oh, yes, sir. 1 often see Mr. Mouser. I 
saw him go out yesterday at thirteen minutes past four, and come 
in again at twenty-seven minutes and a half past five. 

Crum. (aside to Mouser). You see she counts the very minutes. 
(aloud) This is the young person who's going to marry our clerk, 
Joseph Harris. 

Mous. Soon 1 

Crum. That depends on her. Harris wishes the marriage to 
take place immediately, but there seems to be some slight obstacle 
on her part— and, strange to say, she won't tell me what it is. 

Mous. (aside). The thing's evident. I'm the slight obstacle. 

Crum. Perhaps yoiCll be more fortunate, (turning as going up.) 

Mous. (aside to him). Good gracious, Crummy, don't go and leave 
us alone. 

Crum. (aside to him). Of course ! You've done the mischief and 
you must repair it. (to Betsy) Good by. my good girl. 

Betsy [with pretended alarm). You're not going, sir ! 

Mous. Poor soul ! She hopes he's not a-going, (aside) 

Crum. (aside to Betsy). Capitally, capitally acted, so far. Only 
carry it on a little longer and the shop is yours, (aside to Mouser) 
Did you ever see such a pair of eyes ? (aside, as he goes out) I'll not 
lose sight of them. [Exit 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 123 



Mouser and Betsy stand at opposite sides of the stage. Their eyes 
meet once or twice, she dropping than icith emotion, and he drawing 
himself up and trying to appear indifferent. Crummy crosses un- 
seen behind door. 

Betsy Poor man! He'll never begin, so I suppose I must. 
(aloud) Sir ! 

Mors [aside). Mouser. be firm. No damned nonsense. Do your 
duty, Mouser, and that duty commands you instantly to plunge a 
dagger into the heart that adores you. Well, Miss Baker ] {with 
great indifference. His bad' to her.) 

Betsy. Those as likes me calls me Betsy, (in a plaintive tone) Call 
me Betsy, sir ! 

Moos. No, Betsy; I shall not call you Betsy ; I never do call 
people bv their Christian names, Betsy ; never, Betsv ! never, 
Betsy : 

Betsy. No more do I, unless they're very, very pretty ones in- 
deed, such as John and Timothy and Marmadook. (in a tender tone, 
and approaching him.) 

Mors, {aside'). Mouser, be firm, [turning to Betsy, and seeing her 
close to him. begins whistling again. Betsy retires a step or two and ap- 
proaches him again) So you think Marda^o/j a pretty name, eh ? 

Betsy. Yes, sir. I could go on making rhymes to it all day 
long, as I stand at the washing tub ; just like the man in the play — 

There's not a name in any book 
As can compare with Marma/foo&. 

No breeze as e'er the treeses shook, 
Sounds half as sweet as MarmarfooA-. 

Mors, (aside). It was wrong in me to stop. I feel it was highly 
wrong in me to stop, (aloud) But remember you are going to marry 
a Joseph. 

Betsy (with sudden violence, and close to Mouser). Never ! 

Mors, (jumping away). Don't. But why not? 

Betsy. I don't want to marry ; 1 never will marry ; I'll live and 
die a Baker ! (with great energy.) 

Mors. But your reason — your motive — for dying a Baker ? 

Betsy (with a pathetic look at Mouser). Can you ask ? You ? you ? 
Oh, 'tis too much ! Oh! oh ! oh ! (aside) I wonder how I'm doing 
it. (hiding her fare in her hands and sobbing.) 

Mous. Bush, hush! (tenderly) Don't cry — don't make such a row, 
Miss Baker. 

Betsy. Call me Betsy. 

Mous. Very well, Betsy, (aside) I've been too firm. Mouser. you 
have been by many degrees too firm, (aloud, and taking her hand) 
Now don't cry, there's a dear, (aside) I called her a dear. 

Here Crummy looks in and observes. 



124 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS 



There— there — and, now laugh — laugh directly, you little rogue. 
(aside) I called her a little rogue, (chucks her under the chin, then kiss- 
ing her fingers aside.) 

Betsy Rooking nervously towards the door). Oh, I think I'd better 
go now, sir. 

Mous. Don't be in a hurry, Betsy. He ! he ! he ! my pretty lit- 
tle Betsy. For you are pretty — very — very — he ' he ! (laughs to 
himself , then aside) I'm going it! 1 feel I'm rapidly becoming a 
horrid, good for-nothing little rascal ! But I can't help ic. 

Betsy (trymg to disengage her hand). But, sir, what would Mrs. 
Mouser think ? 

Mous. (recklessly). Mrs. Mouser may think whatever she likes. 
There, what d'ye say to that? Ha ! ha ! ha ! who's afraid ? {sud- 
denly and very loud) Betsy, embrace your Marrna<r/ofl& / 

Betsy, frightened, takes up her pattens and holds them out, threatening 
him. Mouser rushes at Betsy, he takes the veil. 

Crum. (without). Very well, I shall find him. 
Betsy. Oh Lud ! (runs out at door. ) 

Mous. Cousin Crummy! (follows her to the door, then crams the 
veil into his pocket and begins to whistle very loud.) 

Enter Crummy. 

Crum. Oh, you're alone, are you? 

Mous. Yes, yes. Amusing myself as well as [ can. La, la, la ! 
(singing.) 

Crum. Oh, then she's been gone some time, I suppose ? 

Mous. Shel who 1 (pretending to remember) Oh, yes — little Betsy 
— of course — I remember. Ha ! ba ! ha ! How you could have 
got such an absurd notion into your head, I can't imagine. The 
girl never even thought of me ! 

Crum. {aside). The little hypocrite! (aloud) Then I must have 
made a mistake. 

Mous. A mistake of the most gigantic dimensions, Crummy. 

Crum. Well— by the bye, your wife wants her veil. Where is it 1 
(looking about) Where's the veil ? 

Mous. Veil '? Oh, here it is, but you know it wants mending. 

Crum. Oh, never mind a little tear like that. 

Mous. (tearing a large hole in the veil, aside). A little tear ! It's tre- 
mendous ! Look here, (showing it) So I'll just leave it with the 
young woman when I go past, (aside) With a note inside request- 
ing her to come here this evening, when my wife is out. I'm rush- 
ing headlong into all sorts of iniquities ! But, as I said before, I 
can't help it. (gets hat, etc., from the table.) 

Crum. You're going out again ? 



AMATEUR AXD PARLOR THEATRICALS. 125 



Mous. {imitating him). Going out again, what a question ! Doesn't 
Mrs. Major General Jones expect me ? 

Crum. (smiling). Again 1 

Mous. Yes, sir, again! This case of Jones vs. Jones is a very 
complicated case, sir, and I must get a counsel's opinion. 

Crum. Then of course you can't accompany Anastasia to her 
sister's 1 

Mous. Anastasia ! Oh, true, I forgot her. 

Crum. (aside). Forgot his wife! Better and better. Ha! ha! 
(aloud) Oh, here she comes— you cau accompany her part of the 
way. 

Mous. Eh ] Yes, yes, of course ! {putting o d his watch and look- 
ing at it, then with pretended surprise) Goodness gracious ! I shall 
be too late for Mrs. Major General Jones, (he rushes out.) 



COLD POISON. 

From F. C. Durand's Burlesque of " Villikins and Dinah.'* 

CHARACTERS. 

Master Grumbleton Gruffin, a rich (sou])) Merchant of London, 
the original "Parient" 

Baron Borki Bumble, Ancestor of the celebrated Beadle, the original 
" Lovier so gallant and gay," 

William W ilk ins. socially and convivially known as Villikins, a young 
'prent ice-boy desperately in love. 

Dinah Gruffin, the sole " Feminine female offspring ■ " of the above- 
mentioned soap merchant, and overzvhclminglg in love with the bold 
'prentice- boy. 

Scene. — A back kitchen garden with a romantic view of cabbages, cu- 
cumbers and other vegetables. 

Time— Period of King Ortaxoninous the Great. 

[Mr. Durand's burlesque is a creditable attempt to relieve the stage from 
the inimitable, yet hackneyed Bombastes Furioeo. Being written expressly fbr 
amateur performance, the closing scene, which we give, affords ample scope 
for grotesque acting.] 

Enter Dinah, with bottle. 

Dinah. I've sot the draught I said tlio rats and mice 
It would destroy. Oh, my ! it don't, smell nice— 
Now all alone I'll drink it every drop. 



126 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



Enter Baron, intoxicated. 

What noise is that 1 — 
Baron- For me I pray don't stop — 

My dearest Dinah — 
Dinah. Dinah ! yes I see. 

And rather worse for diner, it strikes me — [aside) 

Curse on the interruption — what a bore! 
Baron. I left old Gruffin lying on the floor — 

He can't stand wine, it gets into his head. 
Dinah. Pray don't you think you'd better go to bed ? 
Baron. To bed ! ha, ha ! 

Dinah {aside). Yes ! 'tis my only chance ! 

Baron. You don't know what you now say — let's have a 
dance, 

My dearest [hiccoughs) does your mother know you're 
out 1 

But seriously — don't waggle so about! 

Stand still as I do — steady now, like this — 

My dearest Dinah — will you give us a kiss ? 

{attempts to catch her, and falls.} 
Dinah. Hands off ! you wretch ! and pause before you lay 

Your pmvs on me. Now just mind what I say. 
Baron. Mind you're my wife — or that is. will be — 
Dinah. Never ! 

Now from your toils I'll free myself for ever ! [drinks 
poison. ) 
Baron (looking helplessly on). 

I say you've had enough— just stop ! now there — 

As you are a fair one drinking — pray drink fair. 
Dinah. A mist comes o'er my eyes — my sight grows dim. 

My father ! Villikins ! could I see but him ! 

My dream's come true. Ah, me ! how faint I am, 

Tho' 'tis a faint, I feel this faint no sham, 

I'm going — going — going! 
Baron (rousing himself). Where ? 

Dinah. To die ! 

Baron — I've sold you— 
Baron. What ! 

Dinah. Ta ! ta ! good-by ! [she dies.') 

Baron. Ta ! ta ! Good-by ! why, what the deuce is this, 

This miss lying here proves something is a amiss. 

(stoops over the body.) 

Enter Villikins. 

Vil. I cannot find her — ha ! what's that I see ? 
The object of my search — and also he 



AMATEUR AXD PARLOR THEATRICALS. 127 



Whom most of all men I do wish to meet — 

Baron — ahem ! 
Baron (seeing him). Villikins — here's a treat ! 
Vil. What Dinah here ! my love at last I've found 

My fear's not groundless ! dead upon the ground. 

What can [ do ? in what way show my grief 7 

To pour forth moans is but a poor relief ! 

No ! for thy death 1 will take vengeance sore, 

Though you're no artist I dare you to draw ! 
Baron. What, fight with you ! — ha ! ha. a low-born fellar ! 

You have no sword 

Vil. But here's an umbrella ! 

Or stay, without your host I think you've reckoned, . 

Stop — and I'll get a good'un in a second — 

{goes to icing ami gets a combat sword) 

There is a neat one — now what shall it be — 

Over and under — or, a one, two, three ? 
Baron. The first we'll have, sir, if it pleases you. 

{aside) About this broil I feel in a great stew. 
Vil. Now then — to arms ! 
Baron (aside). Oh, lor ! to arms? 'ifegs; 

I'd infinitely rather he had said to legs. 
Vil. Cut on ! 
Bakon. Cut on ! to cut off would be hard ! 

Oh if my ma' could see me now — 
Vil. On guard! 

( m elodrama t ic mus ic — tli eg figh t ) 

There, take your breath — 
Baron. Thank ye, I don't feel strong—* 

Don't you think this would do for to-day ? 
Vil. Come on ! 

(th eg fight. Baron is run through the body.) 
Baron. 0, Villikins ! you've cooked my goose 1 know — 

I feel I'm going, where good niggers go ; 

Yet what is this bout of firrhtins's been about, 

Upon my word I really can't make out — 

If you think Dinah by my death to wed — 

You can't — 'cos why ! — ha ! ha ! because she's dead ! 

{dies.) 
Vil. "Rest, rest, perturbed spirit [" — 'tis too true — 

Dinah is dead — that's one — and you are toe. 

How did she die? oh honor! as I thought, 

Her d ream's conic true — she'd been and pison bougtit. 

Oh lips! yet warm, with you this death I'll halve, 

And my destruction shall he your lip salve! 

Yes, in this bottle still enough remains 

At once to free me from all mundane pains— 



128 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



'Ere I join thee, love, it will not be long. 

{is about to drink — stops) 
Lor ! I forgot I'm dying without a song. 

SONG.— Villtkins.— Air, " Sam SalV 

On her this bottle small, 

Bottle small, etc. 
Of which she has drank all, 
Has darkness caused to fall, 

And dimmed her eyes, etc» 
So she's dead! 
I cannot but surmise, 

But surmise, etc. 
That this bottle of small size, 
Closed in death, as she lies, 

Fast her eyes, etc. 

So she's dead i 
But now I prepares 

For this drop, etc. 
Death in the face me stares, 
And thus end all my cares, 

By one drop, etc. 
Now for it — here is some mistake, oh my ! 
I got no one to speak to whilst I die ! 
Oh, yes I have. Come hither, Bob, my friend, 
And play me some soft air— which air may tend 
To soothe this ear soon now to be at rest. 
Whilst I drink, play — you know what I like best. 
Without slow music, leave this scene I couldn't — 
Now play up, Bobby ! {band strikes up " Charming Judy 

Callaghan. :i Villikins reproachfidly to band) 
Oh, I wish you wouldnt! {the band plays il Villikins and his 
Dinah, 11 very slowly. Villikins drinks poison and dies.) 

Music "Woodman, spare that tree." Enter Gruffin, slightly intoxi- 
cated, and smoking a pipe. 

SONG. — Gruffin. — Air, " Woodman, spare that tree" 

Oh, I feel rather queer, 

And can hardly talk ; 
It wasn't the wine or beer, 

But that confounded pork. 

(very maudlin) This was my father's pipe, 
I've seen it in his hand— 



AMATEUR AXD PARLOR THEATRICALS. 129 



Why, what's the matter with me? 
For I can scarcely stand. 

This is the state of a man, to-day — quite thick 
He bears his blushing honors like a brick. 
At six o'clock comes dinner — jolly dinner, 
And when he thinks — miscalculating" sinner — 
After the dinner he is all right full surely 
He takes a pipe, and feels uncommon poorly — 
And then he falls as I do. {faffs) Hey ! what's this ? 
My daughter lying here — something amiss. 
Villikins, too— and Bumble ! Here's a diskivery ! 
It's very cold down here I feel quite shivery — 
I will get up. (tries and falls) No, Til try to sleep. 
I feel a sort of something o'er me creep. 
Baron ! (shouting) His shoulder' 11 serve me like sleep's lap, 
And on this Bony part I'll take my Nap, {rests his head on 
Baron's shoulder, sleeps. — Baron rolls over — Gruffin's 
head falls on the ground. — Ghost music from the "Cotsican 
Brothers" The ghost of Villikins rises on one side, and 
of Dinah on the other side 0/ Gruffin.) 

SONG. — "Corsican Brothers,." 

Vil, Gruffin, Gruffin, 

After stuffing 
Dinner, in a trance done up. 
Dinah. Father, father, 

The cause rather 
Of my suicidal cup. 
Gruff, {sitting up trembling, and looking at Villikins). 
Oh, please don't, sir, 
And I won't, sir, 
Do the like, s ; r ; any more ; 
Fear I'll smother, 
Here's another, 
Whom I saw stretched on the floor. 

{turn* to sleep and sees Dinah.) 
Vil. " Let me sit heavy on thy soul," oh. Gruffin, 
As income tax unpaid, or buttered muffin. 
Think upon me and let thy soul despair, 
When on dispair it thinks, and may dull care 
Drive thee to madness. Q.*uffin, since in life 
Thou wouM'st not give mo Dinah for my wife. 
My visits shall be neither far be' ween nor few, 
The 'haunted man M shall bo .a joke to you. 
Dinah. Dream on thy daughter, pi son' d in her bower, 
Alive and kicking, kicked within this hour 



130 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



The fatal bucket. Oh ! you may well turn pa[i)le } 
Since to my bier I m brought who was so hale. 
But to haunt thee I'll bind myself by vows, 
Since when alive, you refused as my spouse, 
Poor Villikins! The baron is now dead, so I 
Bid thee think on me, then " despair and die." 

( the Ghosts lie down again. ) 

Gruff, [starting up) Give me another pipe. "Where are my fuzeea 
— where ! 
Why, goodness gracious ! 'twas but the nightmare. 
But there are ghosts here. Alas, there they lie ! 
Methought they both appeared, and said 'twas I 
Who murdered them, and with this they did taunt me — 
The worst of it is that they're going to haunt me! 
And every night when I'm in bed undrest, 
These restless spirits will destroy my rest, 
Crying, G ufrln hath murdered sleep. But I will do 'em, 
I'll just employ a little blarney to 'em. 
Alas, poor ghost ! that's the correct address — 
1 f I in life got you in any mess, 
Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damned • 

Ghost of Villikins. Don't swear. 

Gruff. I didn't ! If I did I'm 

Ghost of Villikins. Crammed ! 

Gruff. Oh, lor, he heard me ! here's a situation ! 
To appease him I'll try an incantation ! 

SONG.^-Air, "Giles Scroggins" Ghost." 

Oh ! Villikins, what can I do, 

Ri tiddy, etc. 
In any way to appease you, 
Ri tiddy, etc. 
If you were alive instead of dead. 

Ri tiddy, etc. 
You should my daughter Dinah wed, 
Ri tiddy fol, etc. 
Vil. Your promise give that if alive now, 

Ri tiddy, etc. 
I should your daughter wed, I vow, 
Ri tiddy, etc. 
Gruff. So. Mr. Ghost, you'll quiet lie, 

Ri tiddy, etc. 
And not haunt me no more. 
Vil. [jumping up). Not I! 

Gruff. 
Vil. 



| Ri tiddy fol, etc. 



AMATEUR AM> PARLOR THEATRICALS. 131 



Gruef. But Dinah's dead, so that wont do, 

Ri tiddy fol, etc. 
Dinah {rising). Papa, don't say what isn't true, 

Ri tiddy fol, etc. 
And now a happy pair we'll make, 
{giving her hand to Villikins) Ri tiddy, etc. 
Gruff. Well my promise is o one— so my blessing take. 

Ri tiddy fol, etc. 
Baron [getting up). But I forbid the banns ! 
Vil. You'd better not, 

Or a real ghost I'll make you like a shot. 
Baron. Dont mention it — if its all the same, 

To you I don't mind giving up my claim. 
Gruff. Ah ! that is well — now that we all are friends, 

Happily Villikins and Dinah ends. 

So let's within the house — no bed to-night — 

We won't go home till morning 

Vil. That's not right — 

For there would b3 a damp on all our pleasure, 

Unless the house's sense upon this measure 

You first shall take 

(Baron steps forward — Gruffin pushes him back) 
Gruff. Semores priores — means 

That I'm to address their aures from these scenes. 

Well, all I can say is 

Vil. Nothing! that'll do. 

Gruff. My boy, you never said a word so true ! 

Vil. Kind friends in front— if not to quibbles blunted — 

(Although in front — pray do not be affronted) 

Forgive our faults— we've done the best we could, 

If we could do more, I am sure we would. 

If the piece pleases not don't blame us — for there 

Is a trifling personage called the author, 

Blame him alone — if blame you must, then do it 

Best in this manner, he's accustomed to it — 

If in your hands we read the word " succeed," 

Villikins 
Dinah. And his Dinah 

Vil. Will be glad indeed. 

Finale.— "VUlikinsr 

Dinah. All the world is a stage— a Shakespearian fact. 
Baron. And every one in it does naught else but act. 
Gruff We're players to night, you the audience part take, 
Vil. And your slights t applause will us most happy make, 
{affecting but concluding c/wrus) Tu ral lal, etc. 



132 AMATEtJR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS, 



KILLING TIME. 

From a French farce—" Love and Raino" 

CHARACTERS. 

Lady Jane Desmond, a young Widow, 
Captain Charles Lumley, of the Army. 
A Servant, unseen on stage. 

Scene. — An elegant apartment with two doors. 

Time — The present day. 

[Lady Desmond, inhabiting a country seat in Devonshire, is terribly annoy- 
ed at the long continuance of a rain season which has not only prevented her 
enjoyment of field sports, but has precluded the possibility of receiving visits 
from friends, as the roads are completely flooded. She has for some time been 
likewise in tribulation on account of the presence in her neighborhood of 
Crackskull, a notorious highwayman, whose arrest however had been report- 
ed. The widow is in hourly expectation of the arrival of the Merediths, a 
wealthy family, who have promised a long visit the instant the storm would 
cease and to bring with them a gentleman as a suitor for her hand. In the 
meanwhile Lady Desmond experiences " the blues " during protracted con- 
tinuance of the rain, when, perceiving a stranger near her villa, orders her 
servant to bring him into the house in order to amuse her by his company 
until the storm should abate. In order to detain him the lady resorts to 
many expedients, and during his stay the stranger maintains a reluctant con- 
versation, narrating his experience during the Crimean campaign, giving el- 
aborate explanations of military terms and of the manner in which the siege 
had been carried on. He had reached the third parallel, defined the positions 
of the various sappers, and was to describe the situation of the fourth, when 
the rain suddenly ceased, whereupon the lady became as anxious for the de- 
parture of the stranger as she had previously been to detain him. The fol- 
lowing scene ensues.] 

As the curtain rises, both characters are discovered in careless conversa- 
tion, seated in two chairs or upon a sofa near a table. 

Lady Jane Desmond. My good sir, if you have no objection, we 
will leave the fourth sapper where he is, until a better opportunity. 

Chas. Eh ] 

Lady J. I should feel quite ashamed to detain you any longer. 
Good morning, sir. {rises) 

Chas. (aside). Another change! {aloud) But, Madam, allow me to 
assure you that I am not at all in a hurry to 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 133 



Lady J. Oh, yes you are ; so pray stand on no ceremony, but 
go at once, for the present sunshine may be but brief. 

Chas. {aside). Ah! at last I think I understand the motive of 

[rises. ) 

Lady J. And before you leave, pray accept my thanks for the 
entertaining hour which your presence here has afforded me. I 
shall never forget those sappers. Good morning, sir. 

Chas. (aside, taking his hat from table). She would not let me go 
while it rained, and bundles me off as soon as the fine weather re- 
turns. She had got the blues, that was it, and detained me to talk 
about trenches and sappers, to enliven her. A very delightful part 
I have been made to play ! She deserves to be punished, and I 
have no means to do so. Oh ! if 1 were but able to give her a good 
lesson. 

Lady J. (aside). He appears very loath to go — clings to his fourth 
sapper. 

Chas. [approaching Lady Jane). I thank you, madam, for the 
hospitality you have granted me. (crossing) Good morning, madam. 

Lady J. (coming forward). I shall never forget, sir, that you have 
caused me to pass the most agreeable hour which for the last six 
months I have known, {aside) I certainly owed him that little com- 
pliment, and in point of fact it is the truth. 

Chas. That one hour, madam, will make the two appear very 
long to me which yet must pass before the train can arrive. Once 
more, good merging, madam [opening dow\) 

Lady J. If you will take my advice, sir, (Chas. stops) you will 
employ those two hours in visiting the beautiful spots of our 
neighborhood. You may view them without fear of being stop- 
ped and plundered, or perhaps killed by the notorious Crackskull. 

Chas. ' 'puzzled) Crackskull % 

Lady J Crackskull is an atrocious ruffian, who for a long time 
has been the terror of everybody for miles around, and of myself 
in particular. 

Chas. («side, ene geticallg). Now I have got her! 

Lady J . It was only yesterday that he was captured. 

Chas. And I saw him this morning near the railway station, on 
his way to Newgate. 

Lady J. He is no doubt there by this time, and we are well rid 
of him. 

Chas. No, madam ; not yet. 

Lady J. How can that be, since he is a prisoner, in fetters ? 

Chas. A man of vast cunning, and incredible strength, Crack- 
skull contrived to free himself from the chains which bound him 
— knocked to the ground and w T ounded seventeen policemen, then 
fled across the country, beyond all chance of pursuit. 

Lady J. Oh, heaven ! He is free then ? 

Chas. As free as you or I, madam. 

Lady J. The thought of it makes me tremble ! The very name 



134 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



of Crackskull inspires me with terror ! Morally and physically, 
I am told, he is a frightful monster — a hideous ruffian ! 

Chas. You have been misinformed, madam. 

Lady J. Ah, true ! you have seen him, and can tell me 

Chas. His hair is exactly like mine. 

Lady J. Ah ! 

Chas. He has my nose, my mouth, and my whiskers. 

Lady J. {uneasily). You must resemble him then very strikingly, 
sir. 

Chas. 'Very strikingly, madam. 

Lady J. (with cariosity). And his figure — his height 1 

Chas. Are mine exactly. 

Lady J. (very uneasy). And his age ? 

Chas. Is mine precisely — although not twins, we were born 
together. 

Lady J. {frightened). Good heavens ! then 

Charles lochs door, right, then goes over and locks door, left, Lady 
Jane shrinking back in great terror. 

Lady J. Wh — what are you about ? Who are you, sir 1 

Chas. {advancing to centre, and throwing himself into a melo-dra- 
onatic attitude). I am the dreaded Crackskull ! Ha, ha, ha ! 

Lady J. {crouching) Horror ! 

Chas. Not a cry— not a gesture \ 

Lady J. Shut up with Crackskull — {trembling) awful ! 

Chas. Remember that you yourself introduced me. 

Lady J. Oh, dear ! 

Chas. Caused violence to be employed to bring me here. 

Lady J. What would you do, sir? {producing her purse) Here 
is some loose silver. 

Chas. {with a violent start). What do you take me for ? 

Lady J. 1 beg your pardon, Mr. Crackskull. you require gold 
of course ? 

Chas. You suppose me, then, a common thief? Insulting fe- 
male ! First you take me for a glazier, and now 

Lady J. Diamonds, then? 

Chas. My cave is full of them. 

Lady J. What, then, would you have? 

Chas. My wishes are the same as your own — amusement during 
the wet weather. 

Lady J. What, then, must I do ? 

Chas. Fall in love with me directly. 

Lady J. {shrinking — terrified), Oh, oh ! 

Chas ( going to her, grasping her arm, and drawing her to centre). 
Speak ! have you fallen in love with me ? {she slips under his arm and 
dodges round table.) 

Lady J. Mercy, Mr. Crackskull, mercy ! 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 135 



Chas. {trying to reach her). Mercy ! Ha, ha, ha! No, I want 
amusement during the rain ; your love or your life. 

Lady J. Oh. don't, Mr. Crackskull, don't! 

Chas. Theu love me to distraction immediately. Dare not to 
trifle with me, I am a desperate man — at war with the whole world 
— especially the police, (suddenly darts round table, grasping her arm 
and dragging her to centre.) 

Lady J. Oh. help! help ! 

Chas. Silence, madam, I am armed — with resolution. 

Lady J. {in great terror \ sinking < Imost to the ground). I will be 
silent ! I— I swear it ! 

Charles raises himself on the points of his toes, and looks down threat- 
eningly at her — an instant's pause — then a. knocking is heard at 
door, left— joyfully starts up end runs towards door — Charles 
fol'ows, drags her back, throws her round and casts himself into 
a>i extravagant attitude. 

S :rvant (without — knocking). My lady ! my lady! 

Chas. You may answer, madam. 

Lady J. {agitated and tremhUng). Wh-what is the matter, Andrew? 

Servant [without). A telegraphic message, that the Merediths 
are not coming at all — they can't — the whole country is flooded, 
and it's raining again, harder than ever. 

Chas. The devil ! I must go then. I should be too easily 
arrested here, (aside) And besides, the lesson is sufficient, {aloud) 
Madam, I take my leave of you, and I am quite certain you have 
no wish to detain me. 

Servaxt {without— loudly). Sir, sir, you had better make haste 
and go. for people say there will be such an inundation soon that 
nobocly will be able to leave the place for at least a couple of 
months. 

Lady J. Two months ! oh ! alone in my misery for two months ! 
(vailing to Charles, who has opened door, left) Sir — sir — (/i^ returns) 
Answer me frankly. 

Chas. What ? 

Lady J. You have often stopped, molested, robbed and plunder- 
ed travellers. 

Chas. I have been a robber from my cradle, madam. 

Lady J. But your hands have never been stained with blood. 

Chas. Never, (falling on one knee and raising his hand) Witness 
my solemn oath. 

Lady J. Well then, remain. You are a wretch ; but I prefer 
a robber to — miserable solitude, a thief— to everlasting doldrums, 
a criminal — to the country after eight months' wet weather. 

Chas. Then of course you intend to marry me ? 

Lady J. Horrible idea ! 



136 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



Chas. You know that I am not a glazier ; I am of good family, 
related to the Merediths, of Seaton Lodge. 

Lady J. The Merediths 1 

Chas. Whom you and I were both expecting here. Mrs. Mere- 
dith, you must know, is using her endeavors to get me married 
to a lady of this neighborhood. 

Lady J. Gracious ! why I am that lady. 

Chas Is it possible that you are Lady Jane 1 

Lady J. And you are 

Chas. Captain Charles Lumley. 

Lady J. {smiling). You are sure you are not Mr. Crackskulll 

Chas. {also smiling). That respectable gentleman is at this mo- 
ment occupying a not very comfortable apartment in Newgate. 
{rain is heard.) 

Lady J. It's raining dreadfully. Harder than ever. 

Chas. Let it, it cannot damp my happiness if it rains a deluge, 
for to-morrow you will become my wife. 

Lady. Not quite so fast, sir ; although I fear that, with proper 
persuasion, I may ultimately become a victim to the united influ- 
ence of " Love and Rain." 



A COESICAN VENDETTA. 

From John M. Morton's Farce of " A Thumping Legacy." 

CHARACTERS. 

Filippo Geronimo, an Innkeeper . 
Jerry Ominous, his Nepheiv. 

Scene. — A garden attached to an inn in an inland village in Corsica, 
Rustic chairs and table. Wine and glasses upon table. 

Time — A quarter of a century since. 

[This is a most effective scene from one of the most ludicrous farces ever 
written, as the earnestness of the cravenly Filippo stands in amusing- contrast 
to the frivolity of his equally cowardly nephew. The innkeeper, desirous of 
seducing the presence in Corsica of the son of his brother, who had died in 
England, indites a letter, purporting to emanate from a notary, desiring that, 
person to come and take possession of the vast property of " his respected 
uncle, Filippo Geronimo, deceased." Young Geronimo, whose name has been 
corrupted into Jerry Ominous, swallows the bait and, after a series of ludic- 
rous adventures, arrives in Corsica to find the dead millionaire alive and the 
keeper of a village tavern. The deluded youth, who is a drug clerk in Lon- 
don, demands an explanation from his relative as to the reason for this im- 
position with an air of cockney assurance.] 

Jerry Ominous. Now, then, old fellow 

Filippo. Old fellow ! Is that the way you talk of your uncle ] 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 13? 



Jer. He sticks to that ! Ahem ! Innkeeper, allow me to ask by 
what riorht 1 

Fil. By the right of consanguinity ! 

Jer. That's a Ions word ! what is it I 

Fil. Blood. 

Jer. You're not joking ?— you're not dead ] 

Fil. Neither one nor the other. 

Jer. Then, sir, what do you mean by such conduct 1 {putting his 
arms akimbo) And what does that other old rascal of a lawyer mean 
by sending me a cock and bull story like this ? {showing him the let- 
ter) He wont get six-and-eightpence out of me, I can tell him. 

Fil. I wrote that letter. 

Jer. You ? 

Fil. {gravely). I reported myself dead as the surest means of 
getting you here. 

Jer. Ah, and now I am here, I think you are bound as a gentle- 
man not to keep me waiting long. 

Fil. Waiting '.—what for .' 

Jer. What for ? Why, the thumping legacy you mean to leave 
ni3 when you die. 

Fil. I leave you a thumping legacy 1 No, no, all my property 
goes to my daughter. 

Jer. Your daughter ? — what daughter 1 

Fil. My daughter Rosetta ! — the bride elect of Bambogetti ! 

Jer Who's Mr. Bambogetti 1 

Fil. H<3 that just went out with the Brigadier. 

Jer. Oil, the tall man that's got an absurd knack of shouting out 
•• Ah !" in one's ear. Well, Uncle Filippo, upon a calm and dis- 

ssionate review of the state of affairs, I should say you've rather 
taken me in ! 

Fil. I have— and what's more, you'll bless me for it — for after 
all, what is my property, even if 1 were king of the island, com- 
pared to 

Jer. To what 1 

Fil. Listen ! (looking round mysteriously— Jerry following his mo- 
tion* verg attentively) It is now about three hundred years ago 

Jer. Three hundred years ?— suppose we sit down. 

Fil. very gravely). Silence ! I say it was about three hundred 
years since one of our ancestors, a Geronimo, engaged in a law- 
suit 

Which I suppose isn't ended yet, Then you've got a Court 
of Chancery here, eh 1 

Fil. Silence! I repeat 

Jer No, don't repeat— you left one of our ancestors, a Geroni- 
mo. engaged in a lawsuit 

Fil. With the family of Leoni. During an attempt to settle the 
affair amicably, your ancestor killed Leoni. 

Jer. Killed him — you mean he called him out and shgt him 7 



138 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 



Fil. Oh, no ; he shot him without calling him out. 

Jer. Did he I — then my ancestor, peace to his ashes, was a 
blackguard. 

Fil. Silence ! immediately, the family feud was declared be- 
tween the Geronimos and the Leonis, and in the next generation, a 
Leoni killed a Geronimo. 

Jer. Serve him right — that's two. {counting with his fingers.) 

Fil. Shortly after, a Geronimo killed a Leoni. 

Jer. Three, (counting.} 

Fil. Consequently, in the fourth generation 

Jer. A Leoni killed a Geronimo — four ! 

Fil. At length came the fifth generation. 

Jer. ADd a Geronimo killed a Leoni — five ! 

Fil. No, he didn't— to his shame be it spoken, he did not— and 
that very Geronimo — that base, unworthy member of our house, 
was your father. 

Jer. I see — he didn't kill a Leoni because, perhaps, there wasn't 
a Leoni to kill. 

Fil. There was a Leoni — he and your father both went to sea as 
boys. Leoni entered the service of France, and your father 

Jer. Like a sensible fellow, stuck to the Union Jack of England 
— at least so I was told. 

Fil. They told you true — they both were killed. 

Jer. Killed % 

Fil. At least, they both died. 

Jer Oh, no, my father was drowned — to be sure that's much 
the same thing in the end — and I, Master Geronimo, or Jerry 
Ominous, as I was afterwards translated, was put to the naval 
school of Greenwich, and afterwards bound 'prentice to a chemist 
and druggist in St. Mary Axe. 

Fil. Exactly ; it was thro' that channel I found you out. 

Jer. Then I wish the channel had been frozen up— but, how- 
ever, as you were saying, they both died, and so, I presume, did 
the family feud. 

Fil. (gravely). In Corsica, a family feud never dies ! 

Jer. Never dies ? Indeed ! Well, I thought that peculiarity 
was confined to donkeys and post-boys. 

Fil. Silence ! Now comes the all-important and momentous 
communication — he's here ! 

Jer. Is he— who 1 

Fil. The sixth and last 

Jer. What ? 

Fil. Generation 

Jer. Ah ! 

Fil. Of the Leonis. 

Jer Oh ! 

Fil. Since his return to the island, I haven't had a moment's 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 139 



comfort — the men scowl at me — the children point at me — my inn 
is deserted — and I'm a wretched Geronimo. 

Jer. Well, it is awkward— yet stay, uncle, it's all right — {count- 
ing his fingers over and recollecting) it isn't our turn ! 

5Vl. No! 

Jer. To be sure not. Look here, {counting his fingeri) Fourth 
generation, a Leoni killed a Geronimo — the fifth was no go — con- 
sequently, the sixth and present generation 

Fil. (solemnly . A Geronimo must kill a Leoni! 

Jer. Must .' you mean, he may if he likes. 

Fil. He must ! 

Jer. You don't mean to tell me that you contemplate such an 
atrocity 1 

Fil. Me ! of course not, or I shouldn't have sent for you ! 

Jer. For me ? 

Fil. Yes, my gallant nephew — Leoni must fall by your hands. 

Jer. {after looking intently at him). What a remarkably fine after- 
noon — I'll go and take a stroll, [going quickly. ) 

1?il. (dragging him ba k). What ! you hesitate 1 

Jer. No ! 

Fil Then you consent ? 

Jer. Guess again. 

Fil. You refuse ! 

Jek. Of course I do. What a ridiculous question ! Look at me, 
sir, look at me, I say — I'm verging on the brink of unutterable in- 
dignation, and if you wasnt my uncle, I'd tell you what I think of 
you, you execrable old ruffian ! I say, if you wasn't my uncle. Id 
shake you into fifty bits. I would, {seizing Yilippo and shaking him.) 

Fil. Nephew, you're a coward! 

Jer. I deny it ; but I've a horror of blood, especially my own. 

Fil. (aside). I must try and soothe him down, (aloud) Nephew, 
my dear nephew, surely you feel for the honor of your house ? 

Jer. Not much. 

Fil. Consent to do this trifle ■ 

Jek. Trifle! Ha! ha! 

Fil And Til leave you all my wealth when I die. 

Jer. Thank ye ; but I've had a specimen of your style of dying 
already. 

Fil. You shall marry my daughter, Rosetta ; she's very lovely- 
takes after her mother. 

Jer. I should think she did of the two ; but, I say, I thought 
you had promised her hand to 

Fil. Bambogetti ? I'll manage him ; besides, the worst come to 
the worst, you won't mind his calling you out f 

Jer. Not in the least ; because I shan't go. 

Fil. It is a bargain ? 

Jeb. Yes — I mean no — no,, 



140 AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS 



FALSE PRIDE AND HUMAN NATURE. 

From Morton's Comic Drama of " All that Glitters is not Gold." 
CHARACTERS. 
Jasper Plum, a wealthy Cotton- Spinner, 
Stephen Plum, his Son. 

Scene. — The drawing-room in the mansion of Jasper Plum at Clif* 
ton, near Bristol, England. 

Time. — The present day. 

[ Jasper Plum, proprietor of cotton mills, whose father had made a large 
fortune through his individual industry, having contracted an alliance between 
Lady Valeria and his younger son, whom he has educated at Oxford as a 
finished gentleman, is approached by his eldest son, Stephen, desiring to an- 
nounce his own marriage with Martha Gibbs, an orphan girl, working in the 
factory for a living. Jasper Plum is a veritable parvenu, aping the airs of 
aristocracy, priding himself, as head of the family, he is probably destined to 
become grandfather to a peer of the realm. Stephen, his eldest son, having fol- 
lowed the practical example of his grandfather, has maintained the manners of 
the working people with whom he has been thrown in daily contact. To tb.3 
disgust of Jasper, habited in the height of fashion, Stephen makes his ap- 
pearance in the garb of a workingman, his clothes with patches of raw cotton 
adhering to them.] 

Stephen Plum. My mind's made up, I can't live without Martha ; 
and here comes dad; so I'll strike while the iron's hot. {retires up.) 

Bhler Jasper. 

Jas. All's done— the papers are signed — the factory folks are 
perfect in their parts out of doors — the servants are perfect in their 
parts in doors — 1 flatter myself the Plums will come out rather 
strong to meet the Leatherbridges. 

Ste. {coming down, aside). Now for it — {plaintively) — Dad! 

Jas. You still here, and not dressed yet '. Stephen, Stephen, is 
it your wish to drive me crazy ? 

Ste I'll do that or anything else to make myself agreeable to 
dad, because I want dad to make himself agreeable to me; I want 
to tell dad a secret — I'm in love— 

Jas. In what? 



AMATEUR AND PARLOR THEATRICALS. 141 



Ste. In love! and don't mind to tell you another secret — it's 
with a woman ! 

Jas. In love with & woman ? 

Ste Yes, and now you're in for it, I'll tell you a third secret — 
I want to marry her off-hand directly. 

Jas. The boy's mad ! — his brother's marriage has got into his 
head and turned it !— you marry ? and marry a woman too ? — 
what next, I wonder ? 

Ste. Don't be angry, dad, 1 only want a wife of my own, like 
my father before me : so you'd very much oblige me if you'd just 
name the time and keep it 

Jas. Indeed! before I name the time, sir, perhaps you'll con- 
descend to name the woman. 

Ste. Ah ' now comes the squeedge ! I say, dad, you see that 
hook atop of the ceiling — that's just where you'll jump to, when 
you hear who 'tis. Well, then, the woman ! love, and want to marry 
is — Martha Gibbs. Now don't jump, {holding Jasper down.) 

Jas. Martha Gibbbs !— ha, ha, ha, — come, I like this — there's 
some character about such damnable audacity — it tickles one to 
have one's hair stand on end ! — Degenerate offspring, do you want 
to be the death of the house of Plum "? 

Ste. Quite t'other thing, dad ; I shouldn't wonder if I put a 
deal of new life in. o the house of Plum. 

Jas. And do you think I'll ever sanction such an alliance for a 
son of mine ? Never, never! The voice of all your ancestors ex- 
claims, Never ! never ! 

Ste. Then I wish my ancestors would just speak when they're 
spoke to. 

Jas. Reflect, rash youth, what was this creature, Martha ! — a 
beggar asking charity. 

Ste. No she asked for wages, and paid you with hard work. 

Jas. And who was she 1 I ask for her ancestry ; she never had 
any ; I ask for her parents; I don't believe she ever had any. 

St i-:. Never had a father and mother ? Then warn't she a clever 
girl to manage to do without ?— ho, ho, ho.! 

Jas. Reflect like a man, sir, and don't laugh like a horse. I'll 
turn that intriguing hussy, Martha Gibbs, out of the house this 
very day. 

Ste. [agitated). Stop, dad, you don't — you can't mean that? 

Jas. I do mean that, and I'll do it. 

Ste. (sorrowfidly). No, you won't ; you may save yourself the 
trouble now and the pain afterwards. Martha has given notice, she 
means to quit the factory to-morrow morning. 

Jas. A pleasant journey to her ! 

Ste [assianing a tone of determination). I hope so, 'cause I go 
along with her. 

Jas. What did you say, sir ? 

Ste. I go along with her. 



Spirit Gum, for securing wigs, bearde and mustaches to the head and face. 

D EC bo 0$ t^HiH 63,011 30 cts - 

Cocoa Butter, for removing " Grease Paints. 7 ' Price per cake , 25 cts. 

Artist's Stumps, for delineating wrinkles on the face, etc. Price each., 15 cts. 

Powder Puffs, for applying powder, etc., to the face. Large size, sash. , . . .50 cts. 

" " Medium size do. 25 cts. ; miniature size do 15 cts. 

Hares' Fee*-, for applying coloring to the face. Price, plain, each. 25 cts. 

" " Ivory handled , 50 cts. 

Camel's Hak Brushes, for applying colors to the face. Erice each 5 cts. 

" " : * Per doz 50 cts. 

Brushes, for Wo&r Oosmetique (Aqua Tint). Price each, .„ 10 cts. 

" for Spirit Gum. Price each , . , 5 cts. 



Tlie Actor's Js/LzlI^g-ix^d IOoix:. 

This is a handsome, substantial tin case, containing all the materials necessary 
for use in ''making np " for the stage, viz. : Set of Grease Paints (8 colors), Cocoa 
Butter, Nose Putty, Paste Powder, Rouge de Theatre, Grenadine, Multiform Powder 
(two shades), Cosmetique, India Ink, Email Noir, Aqua Tint (two shades), Spirit 
Gum, and an assortment of Crepe Hair and Wool. Also, Mirrov, Scissors, Powder 
Puff, Hare's Foot, Artist's Stumps, and Camel's Hair Brushes. 

Price, by express, at cost of purchaser $5 00 

«« post-paid, by mail 5 V5 

Tlie G-eiao. ^VCstl^e-uL^ Box, 

This is just the thing for amateur use, and is without doubt the most complete 
article of the kind ever furnished for the money. It is a neat, compact little case, 
containing one set (eight assorted colors) of Grease Paints, one box Multiform Pow« 
der, one box Multiform Cream, on box Rouge, one stick Lii> Kouge, one Stump for 
lining, one Hare's Foot, and one Powder Puff. 

Price, post-paid, by mail .$1 50 

G-rease 3Pati:ia.ts ixi Sots, 

These sets embrace eight sticks of assorted colors, sufficient for the requirements 
of amateurs in a majority of cases. In a neat pasteboard box. 

Price, post-paid, by mail , . „ 75 cents. 



Theatrical and Fancy Costume Wigs. 

l>Totioo. 

In ordering Wigs, Beards, etc., be particular to mention the color desired 
The size of the hat worn by a gentleman will usually indicate with sufficient exact- 
ness the proper sized wig; but if a more exact or nice fit is desired, measure the 
head with a tape-measure, as follows : — 

1. Around the head; beginning at edge of hair in middle of forehead, thence t<? 
top of base of right ear, thence around base of skull, touching top of base of left 
ear, to point of beginning. 

2. From same point of starting, measure over the top of the head to middle of 
nape of the neck. 

3. Across, over top of head, from ear to ear. 

5. Around back of head, from temple to temple (edge of hair). 



HAQEMAN'S MAKE-UP BOOK. 

By MAURICE HAGEMAN. 

Anthor of •« What Became of Parke r t w " Prof. Robinson," ••Hector/' "Mm 
Mulcahy," ''The First Kiss," "By Telephone," "To Rent," eto. 

Price, 25 cents. 

The importance of an effective make-up Is becoming more apparent to 
the professional actor every year, but hitherto there has been no book on the 
subject describing the modern methods and at the same time covering all 
branches of the art. This want has now been filled. Mr. Hageman has had 
an experience of twenty years as actorandstage-manager,andhis well-known 
liteiary ability has enabled him to put the knowledge so gained into shape 
to-be of use to others. The book is an encyclopaedia of the art of making up. 
Every branch of the subject is exhaustively treated, and few questions can 
be asked by professional or amateur that cannot be answered by this admira- 
ble hand-book. It is not only the best make-up book ever published, but it 
Is not likely to be superseded by any other, II U absolutely indispensable 
to every ambitious actor, 

CONTENTS. 

Chapter I. General Remarks. 

Chapter II. Grease-Paints, their origin, components and use. 

Chapter III. The Make-up Box. Grease-Paints, Mirrors, Face Powder and 
Puff, Exora Cream, Rouge, Liquid Color, Grenadine, Blue for the Eyelids, 
Brilliantine for the Hair, Nose Putty, Wig Paste, Mascaro, Crape Hair, 
Spirit Gum, Scissors, Artists* Stomps, Cold Cream, Cocoa Butter, Recipes for 
Cold Cream. 

Chapter IV. Preliminaries before Making up; the Straight Make-up 
and how to remove it. 

Chapter V. Remarks to Ladles. Liquid Creams, Rouge, Lips, Eyebrows, 
Eyelashes, Character Roles, Jewelry, Removing Make-up. 

Chapter VI. Juveniles. Straight Juvenile Make-up, Socloty Men, 
Young Men in HI Health, with Red Wigs, Rococo Make-up, Hands, Wrists, 
Cheeks, etc. 

Chapter VII. Adults, Middle Aged, end Old Men. Ordinary Type of 
Manhood, Lining Colors, Wrinkles, Rouge, Sickly and Healthy Old Age> 
Ruddy Complexions. 

Chapter VIIL Comedy end Character Make-ups. Comedy Effects, 
Wigs, Beards, Eyebrows, Noses, Lips, Pallor of Death. 

Chapter IX. The Human Peatures. The Mouth and Lips, the Eyes\and 
Eyelids, the Nose, the Chin, the Ear, the Teeth. 

Chapter X. Other Exposed Parts of the Human Anatomy. 



a ' 

Ladles' 
Tramps, Moustaches, Eyebrows.' 

Chapter XIL Distinctive end Traditional Characteristics. North 
American Indians, New England Fanners, Hoosiers, Southerners, Politicians. 
Cowboys, Miners, Quakers, Tramps, Creoles, Mulatoes, Quadroons, Octo- 
roons, Isegroes, Soldiers during War, Soldiers during Peace, Scouts, Path- 
finders, Puritans, Early Dutch Settlers, Englishmen, Scotchmen, Irishmen, 
Frenchmen, Italians, Spaniards, Portuguese, South Americans, Scandina- 
vians, Germans, Hollanders, Hungarians, Gipsies, Russians, Turks, Arabs. 
Moors, Caflirs, Abysslnlans, Hindoos, Malays, Chinese, Japanese, Clowns and 
Statuary, Hebrews, Drunkards, Lunatics, idiots, Misers, Rogues. 

Address Orders te 

THE DRAMATIC PUBLISHING COMPANY, 

cncAQO, ILUNOU. 



l IBRARY OF CONGRESS i 

iiiiiiiiiiiii' 

022 204 649 A 



PLAYS. 

BEING the largest theatrical booksellers in 
the United States, we keep in stock the most 
complete and best assorted lines of plays and 
entertainment books to be found in this country. 
We can supply any play or book pub- 
lished. We have issued a 144"P a g e catalogue 
of the best 1500 plays and entertainment books 
published in the U. S. and England. It con- 
tains a full description of each play, giving 
number of characters, time of playing, scenery, 
costumes, etc. This catalogue will be sent free 
on application. 

The plays described are suitable for am- 
ateurs and professionals, and nearly all of them 
may be performed free of royalty. Persons in- 
terested in dramatic books should examine our 
catalogue before ordering elsewhere. 

The Dramatic Publishing Company. 

CHICAGO- 



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